


Wo Bist Du?

by heirate_mich



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Abuse, Abusive homeland, Anarchy, Gay, Healing, Journal Entries, Kissing, M/M, Makeshift marriage, Messed up childhoods, Multi, No Freedom, Nsfw content, POV chapters, Reversed storyline | frame story, Snuggling, Softness in the midst of horrible things, Torture, Treason, major character deaths, tender moments, totalitarian government
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 55,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heirate_mich/pseuds/heirate_mich
Summary: The boys have attempted to escape their abusive homeland and failed. All that remains are their journal entries stating who they are, what they’ve been through, and what they were doing and had done in their lives before their deaths.
Relationships: Oliver Riedel/Christoph Schneider, Richard Kruspe/Paul Landers, Till Lindemann/Christian Lorenz
Comments: 16
Kudos: 52





	1. Eins—Paul.

**Author's Note:**

> Paul’s POV whilst awaiting his death sentence in prison after being caught in the midst of escaping alone.

## Eins—Paul.

Reader, whoever you may be,

I don't know how to start this. I've never written anything like this before. I never thought I'd have to, actually. No one has ever told me that I'm good with words, but they're all I have right now—and even then, I don't really have them. I can write them down if I manage to hide them, but I can't say them aloud. God knows what would happen to me if I did.

When I first got here, I tried keeping track of the days. It didn't work. The days turned to nights and the nights turned to days. The sun doubled as the moon and then the moon itself disappeared. I think it's the first, and only, planet to flee the solar system after seeing what's happening here on Earth. I can't blame it. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. What's happening is horrific. Here, at least. I'm not sure about elsewhere.

This is prison. I'm in prison. I'm not bluffing and I'm not saying it metaphorically. I'm saying it because that's what it is and that's where I am. I am in prison. And I've been attempting to count the days because one of them will be my last.

I've done a lot to end up in this position, but even now, as I write on this sad excuse of a roll of toilet paper with a charred piece of wood that I found in the corner of the room, I don't regret what I did. I never will. Soon, they'll kill me. The torturing will come to an end. The abuse will stop. The brainwashing will be no more.

I'll be free. More free than I ever was here. I need people to understand that. Never for a second of my life was I free. Neither were my brothers, who have already passed. They have liberty at the moment, wherever they've ended up, though I'm hoping it's Heaven or whatever comes closest to it, whereas I don't. I'm the last one to die out of all of us.

I watched all of my brothers die in our attempt to escape. They weren't my blood brothers, seeing as I never had any, but we found each other over the years and stuck together ever since. That's what you do here. When your blood family dies, is taken God knows where, or is imprisoned, you find others to go to. You don't want to be alone here. Nobody does. The toughest man on the face of the Earth could step foot here and he'd turn around or beg for someone to take the next step with him. That's just how it is. That's how it might always be, and to be honest, that's what's driving me crazy. Not the torture or the physical pain, or the starvation or lack of care, but the horrifying realization that I am truly alone.

I am alone. And until I die, nothing will change.

No one has told me about how I'll die. No one has said anything about others witnessing my persecution. No one has even spoken about it. I know it's still scheduled to happen one of these days, but I don't know which day and I don't know how it'll go down and I don't know who will be there to watch me take my final breaths. I don't know anything. I know absolutely nothing and truthfully, that doesn't feel too great either.

But like I said— Despite all of this, I don't regret what I did to end up here. I never will. They could remove all of my organs, one by one while I'm still conscious, and I wouldn't feel an ounce of remorse for what I did. It's what these people deserve. It's what all of them deserve.

I don't care who I killed. I don't care what I destroyed. I don't care what I unleashed in the process. I don't care about any of that. Ever since I opened my eyes and was faced with this reality, I have felt nothing but fear, hurt, and anger. They should've known when I was born that I was going to be the one that was going to raise hell as best as I could. They always look out for suspicious things anyway. I'm surprised they didn't catch and kill newborn me in the 'hospital' I was born in for this reason alone.

If someone finds this letter and wonders what the hell I'm talking about (because a part of me doubts that this will be taught or passed down to people), I'll tell you in the best way that I can while keeping it short, sweet, and simple.

As all great genocides begin, it started with a stock market crash. To be honest, this country was never well off to begin with, but when that happened, mostly everyone lost their jobs. The demand for many things such as food, water, medical supplies, and lots of other things went up, but the supply wasn't here. The prices for everything skyrocketed and no one could afford anything. People started dying and starving, and stealing. With that came more crime. Stealing then turned into armed robbery, and then that progressed into arson, and with arson came murder. Once that happened, the law enforcement officials didn't care enough to stop anyone. They weren't being paid and saw no point in doing their job if a paycheck wasn't involved. Because of that, murder became as common as ever. That happened when I was a kid. It started a month before I was born and carried on until I was ten. For ten solid years, murder was practically legal here and none of us had any money. Simple enough.

When I was ten, the leader of the country died. Since we are technically just a branch of another country that's much bigger than us, they chose our new leader for us— That, and because we were in no state to hold any sort of election, so a part of me can see why it happened this way. Nonetheless, the leader they chose was one that none of us would've voted for, to say the least. The man is as cold as they come. No emotion. No falter in his voice. No glint in his eye. Nothing. It's as if he's here, but isn't really _here_.

Until I was twelve, he cleaned up the country. I say that loosely. By cleaning up, I mean he took all the dead people that had been improperly disposed of, dug mass graves for them, then buried them around various parts of the country. Then everyone else who was terminally ill or couldn't recover from whichever disability they had was taken and never seen again. Whether they were killed or thrown to our country's owner, one could say, I'm not sure, but all I know is that because of it, I never saw my parents again. Shortly after, I didn't see my sister ever again either. Because of that, I fled to the neighbor's house and allowed her to care for me, though I had hardly known her before then. Thankfully, she took me in. She knew that my family had been taken away. She knew without even having to ask. 

If they're still alive, I hope they're doing better than me. I pray that they are. And if they're dead, they shouldn't worry. I'll be joining them soon.

This goes on today as well. People who fail the mandatory checks that the government performs every three weeks are taken and they're never seen again. After my sister and parents had been ripped from me, I never lost anyone else close to me in this way. I'm thankful for that. I'm thankful because at least I know what happens to those who are taken for other reasons.

This alone took away a quarter of the country's population. Those who were starving or had contracted diseases that were either incurable or had already done too much damage were taken. I was lucky to have just barely passed each and every inspection that I was given. A part of me doesn't want to know what happens to those who are too sick for the government's liking.

After the sick were cleared out, the rest of us remained. Strict rules were set in place. We were to be inside at seven o'clock each and every evening. We could not leave the house until five o'clock the next morning to tend to our jobs. We had to be screened every morning when we attended work for a plethora of things—drugs, alcohol, and other things of the sort. You were given three strikes for a six month period and if you hit three strikes, you were taken by the government. I know what happened to those people. They were hooked up to machines and experimented on. They took blood and pumped new blood in, as if they were attempting to wash whatever was in their system out of them. They would sometimes even subject people to multiple tests with high levels of radiation without any sort of protection. After that, almost everyone fell sick, so they'd be taken away just like the rest of the sick people were.

By this time I was thirteen. Thirteen and working in a crematorium because the graves that they had dug were overflowing and there were few places left to bury as many people as there were. It was my job to take the belongings off of the bodies. I had to strip them to the bone and burn their clothes, then gather up whatever jewelry they had, if any at all, and give them to a supervisor who would melt them down in front of me despite knowing how valuable they were and how much food I would get on the streets with such treasures. I never complained. I knew better than to do so. Even when the bodies stunk and were rotting, I didn't say a word. I did what was expected of me for ten hours a day, every single day of the week, until I was nineteen. Then, and only then, was I given a new job.

My new job wasn't much better. I was out of the crematorium, yes, but I was placed in a factory that made weapons. I wasn't to speak, look from side to side or behind me, or move from my seat unless I had permission. I could only look forward or occasionally downwards whilst sitting in silence. I can't remember which parts of the gun I put together, but I always memorized where everything went so I wouldn't raise any suspicions and look down at my work for too long. I had heard and seen many men getting their skulls beaten in for looking down for the majority of the time during their shift. I didn't want to be one of them, despite how numb and traumatized I was.

You didn't get to choose your job. Every year, all of us would take tests to see what job we would fit best. It was done so that none of us would fight over the better jobs that were available. I don't know how they calculated the results of the tests, but somehow for six years, I scored just the right amount to be placed in the crematorium. Of course I had thought about changing my answers, but again, I didn't want to raise any suspicions. They would've caught onto me for being unhappy with what I was given, which was a giant red flag to them. If someone expressed even a hint of dismay towards their job or with something else they were so generously given, there would be extreme prices to pay. I had seen it happen many times before. I didn't want it to happen to me at the time. I was too weak then. I was too scared. Too brainwashed.

The lady that had become my new mother passed away when I was twenty four. I woke up one morning and she was laying in her chair. I've seen thousands of dead people before, so I knew within an instant that she had passed. I didn't cry. I didn't dare show that I was upset with the way that something had turned out. It was too risky. Even death was something you weren't allowed to have any emotions towards.

Back then, and still today, you are to go to the nearest government building and report whoever you live with as dead if they pass. I did so without hesitation and by the time I returned home from work that evening, she was gone. Her belongings were gone. Her photos had vanished. Even the scent of the perfume she only ever wore for special occasions didn't lace the edges of her pillow like it usually did.

When people die, they don't want to leave anything relating to them behind— Not even the house that they lived in. It didn't matter if others lived there. They would have to find somewhere else to live because it then became the government's property. More often than not, the houses were destroyed and new ones were rebuilt in the same spot. They looked entirely different, though. By then, the entire neighborhood that I had grown up was practically foreign. I didn't recognize any of the houses. I couldn't even remember what the original houses looked like. Not even the one that I lived in with my parents and my sister before they were taken.

You weren't allowed to be homeless. If you were caught without a home or a place to stay, you would be killed wherever you were found. My brothers and I called it a form of population control, meaning if there were less people, there would be more housing options available. It was true, but that wasn't the right way to go about it. It never is.

Shortly after I turned twenty seven, which is my current age since my birthday is in the winter by the new year, I was taken out of the factory. I was living with an older man at the time. He worked beside me at the factory and had the personality of a doorknob. He never spoke when we were at home together. He never wore any expression on his face. He never even reacted to the weather when we walked outside. I sometimes believe that he was a robot. There was no way that that man had a soul, a heart, or a brain. Luckily when I was given a change of career, he died and I was able to live elsewhere.

That was how I met my brothers.

I met my older brother at my new job. By then, the country was even more strict with regulations at work. We worked from five in the morning until six at night, giving us an hour to make it home before the curfew was set in place. My older brother worked beside me at our job at a power plant. How we ended up there, I don't know because neither of us had any sort of education to work with anything that we were handed or tasked with. That was how he burnt himself more often than not and it was in that building that I nearly melted the left side of my face off. But that's another story for another time.

No one was allowed to speak while at work, unless a superior was speaking to you. Us working men in the lower class couldn't even mumble an apology to one another despite what happened. We were expected to remain silent, still, and compliant, no matter the circumstances. This made all of us very awkward and unable to connect with others outside of work. By then, we were all practically brain dead, including myself.

One night as I was leaving, my older brother trailed behind me. I felt his presence, but I didn't say anything. He followed me outside and watched as I began walking towards where I was staying until that day. I didn't even know the person I was living with. I followed them home on my first night after work and neither of us questioned my presence in their home the entire time they were alive. However, they had unexpectedly passed that morning, meaning I needed to find somewhere else to stay. I stopped because I realized that I couldn't return to that house, mostly because it didn't exist anymore, and turned to face him. Before I could say anything, he told me that I could live with him. I agreed and we went home together that night.

I won't dive into our life, but I will tell you that he lived with four other men. We were all relatively close in age and silent at first. We barely spoke a word to one another. I didn't even learn half of their names until after a week of living there. We were all tired when we returned home from work, so most of the time we ate, freshened up, and then went to bed. I shared a bed with my older brother and my youngest middle brother. The others shared a bed on the other side of the room.

I had never lived with people my own age until then. It was a shock to see how others like me lived. At first, I tried to disregard it. I chose to ignore how my youngest brother hardly spoke a word and clung to our oldest middle brother. I turned a blind eye to my oldest middle brother coming home covered in blood some days. I opted to not think about how the others would simply come home and sit and stare at the wall because they couldn't handle what they had been through that day.

We were all expected to deal with what we experienced. We were all molded to be emotionless. But the six of us weren't. We could never be.

One night, my older brother looked at me while we were laying in bed. He told me that he needed my help. I told him I would help him.

That was when he told me that they were planning to flee—all of them. They couldn't take it anymore. They couldn't live like this any longer. Watching how little I reacted to everything that I dealt with pushed them over the edge and gave them the drive that they needed to go forth with this plan. They knew after meeting me that they couldn't live in this country anymore.

I should've hesitated, but if I had, I wouldn't be here now. I told him that I wanted to flee within a second—that I wanted to run as far away as possible and never return. He just smiled at me, nodded, then held me close.

We had our own way of going about it. We could attack from all sides and boy, did we try our hardest to do so.

Till, my older brother, and I worked at the power plant. We had planned out a way to shut down the power to the wall that separated our country from the country next to ours. We could do that, but we knew we'd need backup.

Flake, my youngest middle brother, worked in a laboratory. He had access to many things that were deadly or could cause serious harm and he would unleash them in order to ensure our safety during our great escape.

Richard, my second youngest brother, worked with Oliver, my youngest brother, at the weapon dispensary that was only accessible to government and military officials, and those who had been chosen to work there, since it was in the long line of government buildings that spanned a certain length of the wall separating our country from the next. There, Richard did nothing but count the weapons that were in the safes, present said weapons to whoever requested them, and spend hours upon hours cleaning them after they were used. Oliver, however, was the one who had to drive said officials to wherever it is they were going with the weapons, seeing as they couldn't be left unattended. That meant that Oliver saw all of the murders that were committed with the weapons that he was sworn to protect.

Christoph, my oldest middle brother who actually went by his last name, Schneider, had a much darker job that the rest of us—somehow even moreso than Oliver. He worked as a guard. He would be present as people were put to death. He was expected to stand in place, even as he was showered in blood and gore for thirteen hours a day. Sometimes, he'd even be the one conducting the executions. Because of this, he was mostly numb to inflicting pain onto others, which was necessary to escape.

Together, all of us stood a chance when it came to getting out. Now, I'm going to spoil it for you— We didn't. Obviously. I'm the only one left alive. The others are dead. I'm alone.

But we did cause quite a riot. And that's an even longer story, but what I can say is that it earned the attention of the countries bordering ours. I believe an action to liberate this country is coming soon, but I know I won't be alive to see it. I did as much as I could. I did what Till told me to do. Let's hope it pays off. 

This letter has become too long and I feel numb. I miss my brothers.

I miss how Oliver would immediately know how Schneider felt the moment he walked in through the door. Oliver always gave his all, even when he had nothing left to give. He would give us his attention, his appreciative nods and hums to what we said, and would occasionally smile to make sure that we knew that we were heard. Oliver was young. Far too young. He was just twenty one.

I miss hearing Till laugh. He had the deepest laugh I've ever heard. Somehow, even though we lived in Hell, he found joy and pleasure in things. He found light in the darkest of tunnels and holes, and he shared it with us. He always made sure that we knew that things would be okay. And if they weren't okay, we were fine with that because at least Till was with us until the very end.

I miss watching Flake assess situations. Flake was very skittish and jumpy with a lot of anxiety and fear. I couldn't blame him, but it never stopped him from thinking of ways to help us. He would take a moment to think something through before giving us an even better idea or a new way to go about something. Flake was always so uncertain of himself, but I've never trusted anyone more than I trusted him.

I miss catching Richard break from the molds we were forced into. Never in my life had I seen a man cry before I met Richard. I don't think I could even recall myself crying. Because of that, Richard showed me that it's okay to have emotions—that feeling things didn't mean that the world was coming to an end. Richard was brave to express himself and to stand his ground with how he felt. He gave me a new way to look at my own emotions and for that, I thank him. Had it not been for Richard, I probably wouldn't even be writing this right now.

Last but not least, I miss witnessing Schneider act human. He was very detached for a plethora of reasons that stretched far beyond the abuse from the government. However, it didn't stop him from having emotions. I watched him smile at Oliver when he first saw him in the morning. I watched him talk to Flake before bed. I watched him rub Richard's back as he cried, albeit awkwardly. I watched him clean the house with Till. And I even watched him reach out towards me when he was being beaten to death and admit to me that he didn't want to die because he was scared of leaving me alone. It was a touching moment, until someone stomped his head in on the concrete floor and cracked his skull open, which killed him instantly.

I miss them all. I'll be coming home to them soon.

Even though our plan failed, I wouldn't change it for the world. We found one another for a reason and we are all going to end up dead for a reason, too. Sometimes, I think, it isn't about whether or not your plan to change things succeeds—it's about whether or not you fought as hard as you could despite the risks of the outcome.

I couldn't have done any of this without them. They're my brothers for life. I love them with everything in me.

Now, I must rest. This may be my last night alive. It may not be. I don't know anymore. All I know is that I'm ready to go home. I'm ready to see my family again.

3.11.92


	2. Zwei—Schneider.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneider’s POV predicting his own death and deciding that Paul will be the only one escaping the country.

## Zwei—Schneider.

6.9.92

This will be my final letter. Today is the day that I die.

Since I met Oliver, I knew that we would die together. I knew not of the causes nor of the pain it would bring, but I knew that we would die on the same day.

Today, Oliver died. I will, too.

Till sacrificed himself just a few minutes ago. I write this whilst in hiding—shoved between two walls in the dark, waiting for Paul to give me the signal that we are able to run for our lives. I don't want to run to save mine anymore. I have no life left to live. I wasn't given the opportunity to have one when I was born. I don't have one now that I'm close to death.

Paul will find his freedom and I will meet my fate.

I should be emotional. I should be scared or even anxious of whether or not my death will hurt, but I'm not. I'm not because I know it will. Till was stabbed in the control room. Oliver was blown up after he was locked in a gun vault. Flake was thrown into acid used to dispose of corpses when there was nowhere else to place them. Richard was shot and killed in his attempt to buy us time to get this far into the building. Why should I believe that my death will be any less painful? Why should I get an easy way out?

I don't deserve one. It was my job to execute people. That was what the government assigned me to do and I was too cowardly to back down.

I would kill people by shooting, hanging, electrocuting, poisoning, beating or castrating them, or beheading them. Those were the most common penalties. There were others, of course. I didn't always kill people, but when I didn't, I was the guard. I was present to ensure that they wouldn't attempt to escape, kill, or hurt anyone whilst they awaited their punishment.

Yes, some of those people may have deserved it, such as the rapists, the child molesters, the mass murderers, and those who made explicit threats against certain groups of people. But others did not. The ones who simply stole because they couldn't afford food for their family did not deserve to die. Those who had not performed well enough at any job they were given did not deserve to be sentenced to death because they were seen as unfit to work. The people who would opt to give themselves abortions when they found out they were pregnant because they didn't want to raise a child in this reality. These citizens were trying to survive and do what was best for themselves and for those they loved. Instead, they became victims, and they became victims because of me—because of what I allowed.

Oliver would often tell me that it was not my fault. Sometimes, he would convince me of such lies. But at the end of the day, I was to blame. I could've stood up for someone. I would've been killed just as horribly as they were and nothing would've changed, but at least I would've been trying. I never tried. I only allowed these things to happen, without even uttering a single word about how wrong it was.

Some people, I've heard, are able to sense how they'll die. I don't think Oliver knew that he was going to be locked in a vault with a bomb. I didn't think that either. I always knew that we would never die a peaceful death—that we would not die together whilst laying in bed and holding onto one another. I always knew that something would happen to take both of us away from one another on the same day. I also think I knew that it wouldn't be something good to take us away from this life either. In this country, there really is no such thing as a peaceful death, for even in death you remember the horrors of this land.

I stood outside the room for as long as I could as Oliver was locked inside of it. There was a small window to peer into near the top of the door. I yelled for him. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I beat my hands against the door so hard and pulled at the handle so violently that I can hardly write now with how sore and damaged my hands are. I knew what was going to happen and so did he. The bomb had a timer on it. That somehow made it worse, I feel. It showed Oliver just how long he had left. How long until he was blown to pieces.

I want to die, mostly because I couldn't be there for Oliver when he died. I know he told me to go. I know he was okay with me leaving. But I wasn't okay with it. I wasn't okay with turning my back on him during his last minute of life.

Paul said we had to go. Till said the same. If I waited, the three of us would've been caught and our chance of escape would've diminish before our very eyes. It was then that I decided that I didn't want to leave. Oliver was my life. I was losing my life while I was still alive. I had nothing to live for anymore after that.

Even now, tears are running down my cheeks and staining the pages of the journal I have. This will be my last entry. How dare a love such as Oliver and I's be followed by a confession and reality like this. How sickening it is to think about how every entry until now was focused on Oliver and our love, and about how it was what kept me sane on this hellhole we call Earth.

I remember the first time I saw Oliver. He was only nineteen at the time. I was twenty four. He was working as a carpenter and I was working the same job that I have now. Till brought him home, as he's done with everyone else, and introduced me to him. Oliver had a black eye from an injury he had acquired whilst on the job and a plethora of splinters in his hands. I never took well to the people that Till brought in— Not even Richard, though Richard and I grew to be quite close.

There was something about Oliver, though. Still to this day, I don't know what it was. I looked at him and the cage around my heart rusted away and fell to shambles within me. We didn't say a word for a minute. We simply stared at one another. Till didn't find this particularly odd because of my typical nature, which was about the same as how I was reacting to Oliver on the outside. On the inside, however, it couldn't have been more different.

That night, I fixed him up. I removed the splinters from his hands. I attempted to ease the pain of his blackened eye by dabbing it with a wet cloth. Then I lent him clothes to wear for bed. Oliver always stood taller than the rest of us, so my clothes didn't fit him very well. It was odd, seeing as they were too short yet too loose because of how skinny he was. I had to hem his pants to get them to fit properly for work, even. I did everything for him, all without saying a single word to him for a month. Oliver didn't speak to me either.

I believe we communicated with our eyes. We must've. There was no other way to describe it or give any reason as to how he and I managed to live so easily with one another without speaking for so long.

In my dying moments, I'll remember what Oliver first said to me. We had a habit of laying in bed with one another in silence, since we shared a bed and Flake and Till shared the other— Richard and Paul hadn't come along quite yet. His eyes were as green as they could come and they looked into mine with a hypnotizing mixture of vulnerability and sincerity.

"Hold me," is what he said, "Hold me and please, don't let go."

And I did. I wrapped my arms around Oliver and I held him to me. With one arm around his back and the other around his waist, I pressed our bodies together, as if they were the last two pieces to a puzzle that had been incomplete until that moment. Oliver buried his face in my neck and hugged me, really hugged me, against him.

People's hands have betrayed me many times. They've hit me. They've beat me. They've ripped the hair from my head. They've choked me. They've done things that have made me as cold as I believe I am.

But Oliver melted it away. Oliver touched me with such tenderness that one would believe that I was made of porcelain. He cradled my face in his hands whenever we'd kiss and he'd squeeze my biceps when he first grabbed me once I came home from work. He would brush his fingers through my hair to adjust it so I would look presentable enough for work and he'd oftentimes rub his hand up and down my back to calm me on nights where I felt poorly.

Oliver never hurt me. He never made me feel insecure or uncomfortable, as many have before. He never crossed any lines with me. He was perfect. Absolutely perfect in every sense of the matter.

The night we first kissed was a week after Richard arrived. Oliver was twenty then and it was the night of my twenty fifth birthday. He pointed out the window in the room and whispered to me, "I wonder if these are the same stars that shone the day that you were born."

It was then that I knew that I was in love with him. I sat up just enough to look down at him where he lay on the bed—enough to notice that the moonlight reflected stars of its own in his eyes. I kissed him with my hand on his cheek and my eyelashes fluttering against the tops of my cheeks. I had never kissed a man or a woman until then. I didn't know what I was doing, nor did Oliver. Both of us, inexperienced and unsure of what to do, kissed as best as we could. It was a desperate disaster that left both of us laughing silently and clinging onto one another after it ended as to not disturb the other three whilst they slept. 

To be truthful, I forgot where we were in that moment. I forgot that he and I lived here and would inevitably die here. He made me so happy. He brought me such joy that I had never felt before. Oliver was an angel, I believe. I don't really know what angels are, but I've heard from people I've lived with over the years that angels created Heaven, or the Heavens, and watch over people. It wouldn't surprise me if Oliver was an angel. But it would make me wonder why he chose to look after me of all people.

I will be able to ask him soon if that's what he is. I'm going to die today. I'll meet Oliver, Till, Flake, and Richard again. We'll reconvene in a better place, with no injuries, no pain, and no trauma. We will be as we were meant to be— Human.

Paul will have to go on this journey alone. Paul will escape this country. I will help him, but I will not join him.

With that, I'm coming to an end with this letter. Now comes the time to aid Paul in reaching the end of the building that leads to the entryway through the wall that separates our country from the next. Paul, I hope, will run far away and create a new life for himself. And if he doesn't, then at least he tried. At least we tried.

Well. Most of us. I'm done trying.

My final words will be this.

To my mother and father— I hope you die. I hope you suffer in unimaginable ways. You were the first to hurt me and the first to betray me. If you are still alive, I wish for you to know that I found a man whom I love. He loves me just as much and so much more than either of you ever did. Despite everything you have done to me and told me, I have learned to love, to trust, and to live as best as I possibly could have. Sincerely, from the depths of my heart and soul, I hate you.

To my brothers, Till, Paul, Flake, and Richard— Thank you for showing me what a family is. Thank you for taking me into your home, hearts, and arms, despite how frigid I was and still am. You realized that I was not born this way—that I only projected such behaviors because of how I was raised and what I dealt with. You gave me a sense of humanity and taught me that despite what I've been through that I can overcome my pain and fight through it. You helped me understand how to communicate with others in a way that didn't lead to me freezing them out. You have all given me many chances when no one before gave me any and for that, I thank you. With you all, I learned that with mistakes come growth and not punishment. I learned that I can falter, but be caught before I can fall. Thank you all, and thank you for what you have tried to do for us.

To my Oliver— Forever, leaving you during your last minute of life will haunt me. Yes, I will soon be with you again, but I will never forgive myself for running away. You told me to go, to save myself in order to live a better life. But I can't live a better life if you aren't in it. You are the love of my life and you always will be. I'm so sorry that I left you to die alone. I'm so sorry that your life came to this. If I could've been in that room with you, I would've been. I tried to run as fast as I could to you when I saw them closing the door, but I wasn't fast enough. Oliver, I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry. Please forgive me, please, please, please forgive me. I love you so much. I love you more than anything.

I have to go now. This is it. This is the end.

It's what I've been craving forever now and it's finally here.

Oliver? I'm coming home.


	3. Drei—Till.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till’s POV describing how he feels towards letting the others down in the midst of their struggling mission.

## Drei—Till.

Meine Gedanken.  
6.9.92

Something within me tells me that I will not make it out of this alive. I feel cowardly. This was my plan yet I will not be the one carrying it through. I will be leaving Paul and Schneider to carry the weight of escape on their shoulders. It was never my intention. I never wished to rest this much responsibility on their shoulders. It was, as I said, my plan. Now, it seems as if I will not be alive to witness the outcome.

Paul and I work in the building that I am currently positioned it. We work in the power plant that is in the line of government owned and mandated buildings that stretch along the eastern wall of the country. Of course these buildings do not cover the entire eastern side of the country. They only stretch .8 kilometers at the most. The buildings are wider than they are taller. The power plant is two buildings away from the capitol building, where the entryway to the wall can be accessed. I have just cut off the power to the horizon of buildings. The entry point for the wall is now disarmed and will hopefully stay that way long enough for Paul and Schneider to reach it.

I, however, have to wait here for several more minutes. I have to stay and attempt to override the system, if necessary. I know the controls and the ticks of the codes in the computer system. If I don't stay here while they run, someone could access another set of controls and attempt to turn on the power again. I refuse to let our plan fall to pieces for such a trivial reason.

That is why I believe I will be dying soon. There are cameras in this room. They would be foolish not to place any here, seeing as this is where the majority of the power for this entire grid is controlled. Undoubtedly, they have seen me and are on their way to come kill me. I could run, yes, but as stated before, someone else could override the system in the meantime and ruin this for us remaining three. I would rather sacrifice myself than tarnish this for Paul and Schneider. I feel a tremendous amount of guilt for leaving them to do this without me, but at this junction, I believe it's what best. It's the only way I can ensure them their freedom at this point in time.

I had never understood why they thank me for what I have supposedly done for them. Paul has told me that he's grateful that I took him in. Richard has said the same. Oliver was a bit more open than Flake, though just as soft spoken with his confession. And Flake... my dear Flake. He has said so many beautiful things to me, though he often says that he isn't good with words. I couldn't disagree more. Flake conveys what he needs to and that's what I love about him. He doesn't waste his or anyone else's time and he means everything he says. He doesn't beat around the bush and he doesn't sugarcoat his feelings. Flake is a genuine man. Flake... is my husband. We proclaimed our marriage just minutes before he was killed. He insisted that we get married. I told him that he deserved better, but he didn't care. I know he didn't. Flake loves me and I love him. We have a love unlike any other. We may not be as obvious as Schneider and Oliver, but we have our own love language. It's one that only we can understand.

Aside from Flake and the others, what took me by surprise was hearing Schneider say his piece. Schneider was the first one I took in. The story of how we met is humorous, I believe. I'll say it now since I haven't spoken much of Schneider in my entries.

Schneider, for as long as I've known him, has worked as an executioner. He's always hated the title and has referred to himself as a guard, though he's only something of the sort half of the time that he's working. Nonetheless, I met him because I was used as a transportation guard of sorts, meaning I took those who were being executed into the execution room. Every single day, Schneider was there. Whether he was doing the dirty work himself or simply observing, he was present. He never smiled nor did he glance in my direction, though that wasn't uncommon. People do not live here. People can not sustain a life in this country. We are robots. We are numb. That's all we are.

Schneider was better off dead when we met. He had no emotion in him. He didn't even flinch when gore and screams would smack him across the face. It was like this was all he had known since the moment he was born—to do nothing but kill and serve the government that he was born into. That wouldn't have been far off, though. Schneider was born to a father who worked for the government. He was a guard himself, though his job was much more gruesome than Schneider's ever was. Schneider hasn't said much about it, considering he's the quiet, damaged type, but from what he's said, his father worked as one of the guards who would lead the ill and unfit to their deaths. Essentially, he was the field marshal for thousands of killings throughout the country. Perhaps because of that it's in Schneider's blood to be a bit heartless. However, I believe that has changed quite a bit throughout the time that I've known him. He's fallen in love with Oliver, whom I hope is resting peacefully in spite of his horrifying death, and he has gained a group of friends—or rather, brothers. The Schneider that I met at first all those years ago would never be so open as to accepting the fact that he would come to rely on and trust people. He has changed so much. I'm glad that this is the Schneider that I know now in my final moments.

Though the end is near, I am calm. I have accepted the fact that my death will be painful—that most likely I will be stabbed or shot, or maybe beaten into the floor. Nobody in this country dies a peaceful death, you see. We all suffer. We are born into a country of hate and we all die because of it. No one is safe from the reality of 'life' here. I put it like that because this is no life at all. This is just existing. And even sometimes, it doesn't feel like that.

I was foolish in my youth. I thought that things would change and that by the off chance, someone else would takeover our country and give us the lives and rights that we deserve. Such things were only dreams; pointless dreams that gave me false hope as a child who, just like most everyone else, was failed by his parents, his authority figures, and his government and military. I am not special. I am nothing to write home about. I am just like everyone else here— A man with a gray heart and mind that is desperate for something else, and a soul that aches for more. Yes, I may be participating in something that has never happened before, but I will not be completing the journey. I will not go down in history. I will die here, in this room, and no one will ever find my writings. I will be forgotten as quickly as I became unloved when I was born. That is all that fate and destiny has ever had in store for me.

My heart burns from the thought of Richard, Flake, and Oliver dying. They were young—especially Oliver. Flake and Richard were about the same age, but still considerably younger than me. Paul and I are the oldest, as is Schneider. It was an unspoken rule that we were supposed to protect them, though the duty fell mostly upon myself. I am the oldest. I am the caregiver, the provider, and the leader. I planned this. Yet I let the youngest three die and now I have sent the other oldest ones on what seems to be a death march. I have betrayed them. I have completely and utterly betrayed them.

When I die, I hope that it will avenge Richard, Flake, and Oliver's deaths. Their deaths are my fault, after all. Had I done more, had I been capable of more, they would be alive. They would be running for their lives right now. Instead, Richard is laying dead at the front of the building, drenched in his own blood from the countless bullets that have pierced through his body, Flake's body has been dissolved in a bucket of acid in the lab, and Oliver has been blown into a million pieces because of a bomb. Their bodies are ruined because of me. They are so far from this world that not even a piece of them remains. All because of me.

I have failed them. It was the last thing I ever wanted to do, but it is what has happened. When I perish, I will make sure that I go to a place far below the surface of the Earth, solely to assure myself that I receive a fitting punishment for what I have done to my brothers—to my family.

They're coming now. My time has run out. May Schneider and Paul find their way out of this. May they be given the freedom that they deserve.

And may I be given the fate that I have dealt myself.


	4. Vier—Oliver.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver’s POV just moments before his death in the vault.

## Vier—Oliver.

Ollie. 6.9.92.

I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't do this, I'm going to die. I'm going to die, this is it, I'm stuck here in a room with a bomb and Christoph is outside and he is screaming at me and for me. He's fighting to get in and he's shooting at the door and the lock and the handle, but he can't get in because it's a vault, I'm in a vault and there's a bomb in here with me, I'm going to die. I'm going to die and I know when because there's a timer on it that tells me when it's going to explode and that will be it. I'll die. I'll die and Christoph won't be here, I'll be all alone and oh, my god, I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't, I want Christoph, I want out, I want to be with Christoph! He makes everything okay and everything is so far from being okay right now that I wish I could just die now, but I can't, I can't because life and God and love and fate hate me, they hate me so much that they trapped me here and I'm going to be blown up with everything else in here. That's how I'm going to die. I'm going to be blown up.

Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Save me. Please, somebody, anybody, save me, _save me, please._

Christoph won't stop screaming. He's crying and he's yelling, and Paul and Till are trying to get in, too, but they can't, they can't and I don't know why, I don't know why the fucking door won't just open. Why won't it open? God, why won't it open? Why?

I'm shaking so bad that I can hardly write and I know that I'm incoherent, but I'm going to die, I'm going to be alone when I die and it's so scary, it's the scariest thing I have ever imagined. I'm going to be all by myself. Oh, my god, I'm going to be alone. I'm so alone, I'm alone, I'm alone, I'm alone.

I keep screaming for Christoph. I keep yelling every name I've ever called him. Christoph, Schneider, honey, sweetheart, my love, angel, Mondlicht, my sun and my stars, my everything, the love of my life. All of it, I'm screaming all of it because I'm never going to be with him again, I'm never going to kiss him or hold him or feel him again because this is it, this is it, we are separated and I'm stuck, and I'm going to die without him. I'm going to die without Christoph.

I want him to hold me. God, I want him to hold me so tight and never let go because the only place I want to die in is his arms. If I have to die in this room, I want him with me, I want us both in here together if that's how fate has decided to fucking work because at least it won't hurt, it'll be over and done with within a second and that'll be it. We'll be dead. But right now, it hurts so bad, so fucking bad that I can't even stand it. I'm in so much pain. I feel like I'm rattling apart inside. I feel like my bones are breaking and my chest is being ripped open and my heart and lungs are being taken away from me. I have nothing, I have absolutely nothing. I have no one here with me. I have no one.

I hate this government, I hate this military, I hate this country, I hate the way I'm going to die, and I hate that I'm not with Christoph and that Christoph isn't with me because we were supposed to die together! We were supposed to die together, god damn it, that was our plan! That was how it was supposed to be! And yet I'm in this room with a bomb and Christoph is trying to ram open the door to free me because he knows I'm going to die and I know that I'm going to die and everyone else knows that I'm going to die! That's it! That's how it's going to be!

I'm going to die, I'm going to be blown up, and it'll all be without Christoph. Fuck. Fuck.

Oh, my god, this is it. This is it. I can't do this. I can't.

—

"Just go! Go, I'll be okay!"

"No! No, I'm not leaving you! I can't leave you!"

"Yes, you can! Please, Christoph, you have to, you have to go!"

"I love you! I'm not fucking leaving you!"

"I only have four minutes left, and Paul and Till need you to go with them. Christoph, Christoph, listen– _Listen_ to me, okay? Okay, please? Please, Christoph, this is the last thing I will ever ask of you and I need you to listen to me, please."

"I... Oliver, I can't. I can't leave you. Don't make me go, please, _please_ don't make me go."

"I need you to go. Christoph, please... Please, I can't let you see me die like this. I can't. I– I don't want your last look at me to be like this. Please, Christoph, you– you need to go. You need to, you know why? Because you're going to get out of here. You're going to get out, okay? A– And you're going to have a great life and you're going to live with Paul and Till, and be happy. You'll stay with them, they're your family, and you'll be just fine. Okay, Christoph? Alright, Christoph, do you believe me? Do you trust me?"

"I trust you, but I don't want a family without you in it. You're my family, you're a part of my family. I love you, Oliver. I can't. I _can't_ , I _refuse_ to go—"

"Schneider, they're coming!"

"Christoph, _go_. Go, you need to!"

"No, I'm not leaving, I'm dying here with you!"

"No, you aren't! I'm not letting you die here, too, just listen to me and go! Go, Christoph, please! Please!"

"I don't want to live a life without you in it, what is so hard to understand about that?! I'm not going because I can't! I can't, I can't be without you! I– I can't, Oliver, I just... I can't. Ollie, Oliver... Please, please don't make me go... Please don't go..."

"I know. I know, I'm sorry... Just— Put your hand on the window with mine."

"It– It's not the same, it's not—"

"Shh... Just calm down, Christoph. Breathe. Breathe with me, okay? Watch what I'm doing and do the same thing."

"I– I don't— I don't think it's working."

"Just a few more breaths. Just a few more, you can do it. You've done it before. There you go... There you go, Mondlicht, just like that... Are you calmed down now?"

"Mm... 'M trying, I'm trying."

"Good. Good job, Christoph, I'm so proud of you... I'm so proud of you, don't you know that? I will always be so proud of you. I love you with all my heart and I will love you even after this. I'll love you forever and everything will be okay. All of it will be okay. You're going to go, okay? You're going to go and I'm going to stay here, and we're going to just let this happen, alright? Do you understand me?"

"I do... I do, but I wish I didn't. I wish I didn't, Ollie, I—"

"I love you. I have always loved you. I have loved you since we first met and that will never change... Can I ask you something?"

"Anything. Anything, Ollie, ask me whatever you want."

"Do you think the stars are the same tonight as they were the first time we met?"

"I... Ollie, oh, Ollie..."

"Schneider, we have to go!"

"The stars... The stars must be the same because... because they only shine for you. They only shine for you, Oliver."

"Schneider, come on! We have to run!"

"Go. Go, it's okay. It's okay, I'm not mad. I'll never be mad at you for this."

"I hate myself for this. I hate myself and I haven't even left yet."

"You _have_ to go, Christoph. You have to, and that's okay. Listen to me... You're going to get out of here and you're going to live a great life somewhere else. The sun will shine, the stars will be there, the moon will be bright, and you'll be free. You won't have to fear your own job. You won't have to wonder about where you're going to go if something happens to us. You won't have to despise everything you know. You'll live a beautiful, wonderful life, Christoph... And I'll be with you. I will, okay? I'll find a way. You won't be alone."

"I can't, Oliver, I can't!"

"You can and you will, okay? Trust me."

"Schneider, _now_!"

"I love you. I love you so much. I'll be okay. It won't hurt."

"I love you. I love you and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Oliver, I'm so sorry that this is happening."

"It's okay, it's alright. I love you, Christoph. I always will. Now, go! Go and run, run as fast as you can and don't stop until you're out of this place, you got that?"

"Okay. Okay, I will. I will."

"I love you. I'll see you soon."

"I love you, too. I'm so sorry."

—

One minute. That's all I have left until the bomb goes off. Christoph is gone. He left ten seconds ago.

I miss him. I miss everyone. This is it. I'm dying alone. But I was right. The breathing calmed me down. And this won't hurt. I won't feel a thing.

Forty five seconds. I can do this. I'll be okay. It'll be alright.

Anywhere is better than this place. I'm not mad. I'm not upset. I miss Christoph, but I'll find a way to see him.

Thirty seconds. I hope I'll see Flake and Richard soon. I want to see if they're okay.

I'll see my parents, too. I haven't seen them in years. I hope they're resting peacefully and ready to see me.

Fifteen seconds. Till and Paul are strong men. They're my brothers. They're the best ones I ever could've had. I'm so thankful for them. I wish the best for them, too.

Five seconds. I love you, Christoph. I always will.

Goodbye.


	5. Fünf—Flake.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flake’s POV as he’s trapped in the laboratory and marries Till as best as he can before he meets his fate.

## Fünf—Flake.

Der 06.09.1992  
Die Lage: das Labor

I'm finding it difficult to write down what's going on right now, even though everything is so clear. There are no words to describe the situation that I am in and the things that I have seen. I feel as if I am in a dream that I can't wake up from. Till says that I often talk in my sleep, so maybe I have learned to write in my sleep, as well. That may be the true explanation for this, but I don't know. I'm not sure of anything anymore.

I can't bring myself to believe that Richard died. There is no possible way that he was murdered. I saw it with my own eyes, but I can't help but feel as if they betrayed me. They have betrayed me before so it wouldn't be the first time it's happened, but they have never made me see something to that caliber, nor have they shown me my friends being hurt in any way shape or form, let alone killed. I think they were also tricking me when they showed me the heartbreak on Schneider's face when he looked over and saw that Richard was being shot once, twice, and then too many times to count. I heard Paul scream at the men shooting him, but Till dragged him and I away. Schneider grabbed Oliver, like always, and told me to lead the way to the laboratory. That's where we are now. Well, it's where I am now. They are running around and trying to find things to try and break me out of here. It wasn't by choice, but by circumstance. I came in here to grab the chemical weapons that they'd need. Yes, it is wrong for our government and military to use chemical weapons against the people, but on the grand scale of things that they do, it falls towards the side of being not that bad somehow.

But yes, the weapons. I gave them whatever I felt would work best. I gave them syringes full of diseases. I gave them bombs full of poisonous gases. I supplied them with plenty of things to pour onto others or make them drink to kill or impair them. The government has used these same things on the country's people. I have never killed anyone myself, but I have overseen the work being done. That's what my job is. My job is to make sure that the weapons are handled safely. I used to work in the pharmacy, where I did nothing but supply whoever needed the weapons their objects of choice, but then they upgraded me to this position. I feel less guilty in this line of work, but not by much. I would feel no guilt at all if I were dead.

I ran out of powerful weapons to give them, so I went to the back of the laboratory. I should've turned on the lights, but I didn't. I know my way around and have no use for them. I also didn't want to draw any attention to myself, though I realize now that such a precaution was pointless. Because of the lack of light, I ran into a tray of tools and sent it to the floor, alerting some nearby soldiers of my position. Till yelled at the three others to run, and they did, but stayed in the laboratory with me. He tried to save me. Till has always tried to save me. I don't know why he took a liking to me. I'm not anything special. But then again, Till thinks the same of himself. Perhaps that's why we became so close.

Needless to say, Till's attempt failed. It wasn't his fault, though. They locked me in the experimentation room and Till was unable to get in. He fired shots at the glass around me, but he didn't know it was bulletproof. He tried to throw chairs through the glass, but that didn't work either. Finally, he tried to search for a key or buttons to hit to free me, but he couldn't find any. I know where the panel for the room is, but I don't know how to disarm the locks. If you're wondering why I don't know how the panel works despite my job being in this area of the laboratory, it's because I'm useless, that's why. That, and they don't trust me enough to show me how to do it. The government trusts no one. Not even itself, it seems.

Till has been staying with me since. It's been a long while. Perhaps twenty minutes or so. He's keeping watch for anyone that may be coming to hurt me. Paul, Schneider, and Ollie showed up, too, after a few minutes. They're all sat with me now, on the other side of the glass. They were trying to think of ways to get me out of here, but they couldn't think of anything that Till hadn't already tried. Now they're just chatting and looking out for anyone that may come. Till is a smart man. He knows the ins and outs of most everything, I believe. It's one of the reasons as to why I look up to him so much.

I'm not a very smart man. I don't know what to think of my emotions, mostly because when I feel them, I'm unable to think. It's a series of backfires that leads me to nothing almost every time. Still I feel odd addressing what Till and I have. We keep it a secret. We aren't obvious like Schneider and Ollie, though that isn't a bad thing on their end. That is how they choose to show their love. Till and I are different and drastically unlike Schneider and Ollie. Again, this isn't bad, though. No two people are the same and no two relationships are the same either. It doesn't take anything away from what Till and I have.

I'm not good with love. I never was, even when I was younger and a child, and growing up with my parents. Something never clicked, I don't think. I was too paranoid and untrusting to ever let someone into my life, even though they had been the reason why I had a life to begin with. I guess my superstitions proved right in the end. My parents vanished overnight. They left me alone at the age of ten. I don't forgive them for it and I don't think I ever will.

When I met Till, I wondered if I would love him. I don't often think that when I meet people, so to have such a thought come to mind intimidated me. I stayed away from Till for a week or so before I felt too anxious to be without him anymore. I came to him in the middle of the night. I moved from my bed with Schneider and joined him in his instead without saying anything. It woke him up and I felt bad, but the feeling quickly subsided when he wrapped his arms around me and kept my body against his. He even kissed my forehead. I fell asleep shortly after. It was the best sleep I had had in ages.

Till brought various people home before Oliver came along. Till had been thrown around far too often as a child and therefore was open to hosting most anyone who needed a place to stay. Most didn't stay long. Some died shortly after. And others just vanished in the middle of the night. Till didn't mind. He was just happy to help for as long as he could.

There were two beds in the house we lived in. Until this morning, we shared those beds. Till, Paul, and I shared one and Schneider, Ollie, and Richard shared the other. Richard and Paul faced one another from across the room when they slept. They were very good friends. Richard was quite clingy and open with his emotions, whereas Paul was a firecracker once we snapped him out of the mindset that most of us stay stuck in until we die. They were a lot to handle and they oftentimes annoyed me, but I still cared for them. They were my brothers. Siblings are meant to get on your nerves anyway.

Now the four of them are talking of leaving. Till, I can tell, is hesitant, but he knows what must be done. It's obvious that I am stuck in here and that I won't be getting out anytime soon. I may die in here. Something in my subconscious tells me so. Typically, it's right, so I don't expect to live much longer. This makes me very anxious. I don't like this feeling.

It's selfish of me to wish for them to stay. It isn't right. I am a weak link, as proved by my current situation. They are better off without me anyway. While I don't want to die without them, I know that I cannot hold them back from what must be done to ensure better lives for them.

I just told them that it's okay if they go. Till protested, like always, and the others spared me a sympathetic look. They know they must leave, but they don't want to say so. I understand why.

Paul, Schneider, and Ollie have just walked away to give us some space. They’re still in here, but they’re out of my line of vision. We said goodbye through the glass and they wished me luck. I wished the same for them. It hurts to watch them go. It hurts to know that that is the last time I will ever see them. I miss them already. I want them back. But I can't have them back because they have a mission to complete. They have lives to live. Mine ends here. Soon. I don't know when or how specifically, but these are my final moments.

Till is still here. He's sitting right in front of me with his forehead and palms against the glass. I need to do the same to feel connected to him once more. This is the last time I will ever have a moment like this with him again.

—

"I wish I could free you. I wish I could do something."

"I wish you could, too. It's my fault, though. I made too much noise. Had I just been quieter—"

"Don't say that, Flake. Don't."

"Well, it's just the truth..."

"It isn't. The government is untrustworthy. They're watching our every move. They probably had this planned out before we could even step foot in here."

"So I was meant to die in here?"

"I would hope not. I... Never mind."

"Till, if you have something to say, the time to say it is now. You have to go soon."

"I know, I just... It's hard to say."

"It's now or never."

"You're right. You're right... What I wanted to say is that... I dream of you often, even if you're already at my fingertips. I fantasize about the touch of your fingertips on various parts of me. I sink into the feeling of your lips on mine every time we are to kiss. How I'm going to live without such things is beyond me... How I'm supposed to wake up in the morning and carry on with my life is a mystery. I don't know the answer and perhaps I never will. I have dedicated so much of my life to you. The others, as well, but you... I have given you my all... It wasn't supposed to come to this, Flake. It never ended up like this in my head. I envisioned us, together, laying in bed and tangled up in one another's embrace, with our legs between each other's and our arms so tight around our bodies that there's such little space between us that no coldness can get in... I imagined that we would take our final breaths at the same moment in our old age and that that would be how we'd die. It was nothing like this... Nothing at all like this."

"Who says we can't die like that? Who says we won't be born again and meet each other in another life?"

"That's ludicrous. I don't believe in that sort of thing."

"And yet you believe that in a country such as this, we would be rewarded a peaceful death. I suppose both of us are out of minds because of that."

"I suppose you're right."

"Am I hard to love?"

"What?"

"I asked if I'm hard to love."

"Of course not. You never were. You never are. Loving you comes as natural as falling asleep and waking up."

"I can say the same for you. I'm sorry I was never good with words."

"Don't apologize for something like that. I think you're just fine with them. You also make your emotions obvious through physical cues. You're unlike anyone I've ever met."

"Will you find someone else to love after this?"

"I never could, even if I ever wanted to."

"In another life, would we be married?"

"If it were possible in this life, we'd be married right now."

"Who says we can't get married, then? Before you go?"

"Oh, Flake, don't be ridiculous. This is no place for a wedding. I also have doubts that we'd be able to spend our honeymoon together."

"I'm not being ridiculous, I'm being completely serious. Marry me, Till. Call me your husband before you go and before something happens to me."

"You deserve something much better than this, Flake."

"I don't care. Marry me."

"...Fine. Will you be my husband, Christian?"

"I will. I'll be your husband. Will you be my husband, Till?"

"It would be the greatest honor of all to be your husband."

"Then that's it. We're married."

"We're married. I love you."

"I love you, too, Flake."

"I wish we didn't have to part ways."

"I wish we didn't either. But we'll see each other again soon."

"How?"

"I don't know how, but we will. Trust me, Flake."


	6. Sechs—Richard.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard’s POV the morning of the attack before they leave their house.

## Sechs—Richard.

Tagebuch — September 6th, 1992

I didn't sleep at all last night because of how nervous I am. Is it okay to be nervous about this sort of thing or am I overreacting? I don't know because everyone else seems to be calm. Besides Flake, but Flake is always anxious. He's the skittish type.

All of us are vastly different from one another. Till is a leader and bossy at times. Oliver is quiet, but adds good input whenever the situation calls for it. Schneider is withdrawn and headstrong, but he has a soft spot for all of us and takes care of us. Flake is flighty, but he's funny when you least expect it. And Paul... God, where do I even start with Paul? Paul is a little bit of everything. He can be an asshole one minute and a total sweetheart the next. It doesn't make any sense to me. How can one man be so diverse? I think I'm stuck in my ways, which are apparently dramatic. Paul calls me that all the time. I think he just does it to press my buttons... and it works. 

Paul and I are close. I would be lying if I said I'm not in love with him. I am, but I'll never tell him. I don't know how someone could be in a relationship in the state that we're in. No disrespect to the others, but I just don't get it. I couldn't give someone my all and everything that they deserve in a place such as this. It would eat me alive to know that I'd be stiffing them of what they truly deserve.

And hell, if we're being honest, Paul deserves a whole lot better than me. I'm not the funniest and I'm not all that stable mentally, but I am pretty okay looking. I have that going for me. But that doesn't make up for everything I lack and it isn't enough to distract him from the horrible reality that we're faced with.

Today, we are going to be breaking into the capitol building. We are going to attempt to escape the country because we can't stand living here anymore. Oliver and I work at the weapon dispensary in one of the various other government buildings that are attached to the capitol building and we are going to come in through there. I'm going to be stationed at the front and buying everyone enough time to get into the dispensary. I'm very important to this operation. That's what makes me nervous. If I fail, all of this will end just as quick as it started. I have to do my very best for our sakes.

I never thought that I would do anything like this. I have broken into places in my youth (because I wasn't that great of a kid), but I never got caught and therefore was never punished for such a thing. You'd think that because of that, I'd be less anxious for this, but it doesn't console me at all. Now there are serious consequences to my actions. Death is a main one. Torture is another. Slavery is, too. I don't know what else may happen. Maybe I'll be experimented on. There's no telling what'll happen if I get caught, but I hope that I die before anything too horrible can happen to me.

I hope that the others don't die. They have a lot to live for. I know that Oliver and Schneider want a family. At least, I think they do. I overheard them talking about it the other night. They'd be good parents. Maybe Oliver moreso than Schneider, but Schneider has surprised me before, so who knows. Kids have a way of melting one's heart. I know because if I ever had one, that would happen to me.

I know that Flake and Till want to live as far away as possible from here. I can't blame them. Flake, like I said, is anxious. Being on another continent may actually be what's best for him, but who's to say other than him? All I know is that Till would take good care of him regardless. Till always has. Maybe because he sees Flake as more feeble and weak than the rest of us (which he is—no offense to Flake), but I don't know much about that either. Maybe it's just the love that they have for one another. Love can make someone do lots of things.

As for Paul, I don't know what he wants to do. All he says is, "I just want out of here." He might go off to live his life in a way that I didn't even know existed or he might just wander away into a forest or something. I truly don't know what Paul wants to do. I don't think he knows either.

When we get out, I'll ask Paul if he wants to come with me. I know that we all want to stick together, but I think it's best if we split up. The government will come looking for us and because of that, it's better to stay apart. That way they won't be able to catch all of us as easily. Maybe even staying in pairs is too much to risk, but I would like to see someone try to split up Ollie and Schneider, and Flake and Till. The only way they'd ever leave the other is if one of them died, and even then I don't think they'd stay apart for long. They seem to be like Romeo and Juliet in that aspect.

Paul made fun of me for reading that play once. Books and plays and things of the sort are hard to come by here, but I managed to find it one day. I read the entire thing. I didn't like it much, but the ending stayed with me. Mostly because I thought it was stupid. Romeo was so quick to kill himself. He didn't even stop to think. I know that I can be dramatic at times, but I would never go to that extent. 

If Paul ever compares me to Romeo, I'll kill him myself. He won't have to worry about government coming after him because I'll do the job for him.

All of my things are packed for this... mission, I guess you could call it. I'm not bringing any spare clothes. They aren't all that great or comfortable anyway. They would simply slow me down and get in the way if I were to carry them with me. Instead, I have my diary, my pencils, my weapons, and the clothes on my back, along with the shoes on my feet. I have everything I need, plus my loved ones. Yet for some reason I'm still nervous.

Is it foreshadowing of me to say that I think something bad may happen to me soon? As in, today? I don't want to put anything out into the air in fear of it becoming a reality, but I have to get my thoughts out somehow. I don't know. Something just feels... off. It feels like I might die soon. Again, as in... today. I feel like I might die today.

I guess I should prepare for that. I've tried to remain positive about this. I've said that we _will_ make it out rather than saying we _might_ make it out. I mean... There's no way that we won't not make it out, right? We have Schneider and Till with us. They're some of the toughest guys I have ever met. Paul is, too. I know that he could do some damage if he wanted to. I could, too, but nothing in comparison to those three. At the very least, I could defend Ollie and Flake. That makes me feel a bit better.

But back to the topic of my possibly impending death. God, I really hope I don't die. What's all this for if I die? I want to get out alive. I have spent my entire life here. I don't want to die here. They don't deserve my body. They've already taken my life as it is. They don't get to take me in my death, too.

Jesus. I really might die today. I'm going to die with all of these things that I've never told anyone stuck in my head and that's going to be that. No one will ever know that I love Paul. No one will know that I wish I could be as tough as Schneider. No one will ever discover that I look up to Till and yearn to be as collected as he is. And they'll never know that I would jump in front of a bullet for Oliver and Flake. Nobody will ever know any of this because I might lose my life. 

I can't let these things die with me. Someone has to see this diary someday. They have to find it and read through everything I've wrote down. They have to take time to read about how I've grown to love Paul and how I try to be like Schneider a little more each and every day, and what I admire about Till and the lengths that I'd go to in order to protect Oliver and Flake. Someone has to know of how emotional I am despite being bred and forced to come off as emotionless and somebody has to find out that despite my childhood and the state of the country I grew up in, I overcame the pain it brought me and landed myself here— In a group of men who are planning their escape.

No one has done this before. If they had, we all would've heard of it. All of us are too scared to do much of anything against the government and military. Within a blink of an eye, they'll kill anyone who even looks at someone of authority in an odd way. They show no mercy. They don't care. They're heartless, cold people, if you could even call them that. Someone needs to know that, too. They need to know that those who run this country are not people. They are monsters who feed off of suffering and pain.

I'm now realizing that this is serious. This is happening. In a few minutes, I'll be walking out the door for the last time with my family and heading to the weapon dispensary to kickstart our plan into action. It all starts with me. If I fail, everything else will, too. I can't mess up. I can't. There's no room for error.

Fuck. This is so nerve-racking. I feel like I'm going to throw up. I'll try not to do it on my diary. If I want someone to read this, it has to be legible. I can't have my vomit all over it.

Alright, I'm okay now. It was just bile. I had to gag myself to make sure that it all came up. Paul walked by and snorted at me, but comforted me nonetheless. Now he's sitting beside me on my bed.

Do I tell him I love him? Or do I let the truth possibly die with me? I don't know. I guess we will have to wait and see.

I don't know if this will be my last entry. It might be. So I guess I have to end this with something prolific or motivating.

We can do this. We can get out of this. We will be the first group of people to ever escape this country and live peacefully after. I'm putting it in the air now. It must surely come true now that I've said this. I hope so, at least.

The group of men escaping are Paul Landers (who is actually named Heiko Hiersche, but he hates that name so he doesn't go by it), Till Lindemann, Christian 'Flake' Lorenz, Oliver Riedel, Christoph Schneider, and myself, Richard Kruspe. My first name is actually Sven, but Paul isn't the only one who dislikes his name. I guess we are similar in that aspect. Remember our names because one day, they will be spoken of and we will be known as the men who tried to escape this hellhole and hopefully succeeded.

With this, I end this entry. It may be my last one, but I don't know. I'm hoping that it won't be, but I have to be prepared for anything right now.

I love Paul Landers dearly. I love my brothers as well, but in a different way. They all mean the world to me and I'll do anything for them, even if it means dying. If my death can get them ahead in our plan, then that's how it is. I want what's best for them, and I want what's best for me after, whatever that may be.

Alright. Let's do this. Let's get out of here.


	7. Sieben—Paul.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul’s POV the morning before they leave to escape where he contemplates his feelings towards Richard and indulges in his hatred for the government.

## Sieben—Paul.

To whoever reads this,

I barely got any sleep last night. Something about knowing that I may die the following day really made it difficult to get any sort of shut eye. Aside from blinking, I mean. I did plenty of that. I can’t tell you how many times in total, but I’m willing to bet that I blinked well over a thousand times throughout the course of the night. I should’ve counted. Maybe that would’ve put me to sleep. It’s like the old saying that mothers tell their children—count sheep to fall asleep. I should’ve counted my blinks to try and see if that would work. Even if I did, I think it might’ve proven itself to be useless, though. Even now that I have three hours until we have to go, I can’t seem to fall asleep. It’s partially why I’m writing right now.

Flake and Till are still asleep next to me. Their arms are around each other, much like always. Sometimes Flake will wrap his arm around me when he turns towards me, since he sleeps in between us, but most of the time he faces Till. I can’t blame him. Till is warm. It’s nice to cuddle up against him. I wish I could’ve shoved Flake out of the way at least once before now to snuggle with Till in my sleep. It seems as if I’ve missed my chance, though.

On the other bed is Richard, Ollie, and Schneider. Richard is the third wheel over there like I am here. Ollie and Schneider sleep on top of one another—quite literally. I don’t see how they do it. Ollie is as tall as a damn tree and as bony as a skeleton, and Schneider doesn’t seem all that comforting. Something about his rather cold exterior just seems uninviting. Of course he’s thawed out over the time that I’ve gotten to know him, which has been about four months, give or take a few days, but I still wouldn’t try to get comfortable with him in bed. He has nightmares and tends to thrash around. I wonder how many bruises Ollie has from how violent Schneider can get in his sleep. I haven’t seen any, but then again, I don’t look for them. It’s too late to do so now anyway. They’re the least of my worries.

Sometimes at night when I can’t fall asleep, I’ll open my eyes and look across the room. I’ll see Richard, who oftentimes is already staring at me. When it first began happening, he’d look away or turn to face the other way, but nowadays he doesn’t do that. He’ll smile or smirk at me, and sometimes he’ll mock whichever position Ollie and Schneider are in.

I like Richard. I have since I first met him. He was a lot to handle at first, but once I snapped out of the brain dead mindset that people here tend to sink into, I grew accustomed to him. I’m glad I have because he means a lot to me now. I’m comfortable with him, and I believe he’s comfortable with me, too.

Richard is a caring man. He’s the most lively out of all of us, besides maybe myself now that I have a personality of my own to show and nurture. Richard is never afraid to cry and he isn’t shy when it comes to things that he wants and believes in. I think that’s the main reason why Till likes him so much. Till is the same way. They’re both very headstrong and stubborn, and they stand their ground. But with that comes differences. Till is dominant and logical when it comes to fighting for what he believes in, whereas Richard is rather manipulative and emotional. I don’t think he means to react in such ways, but it can be a lot to decipher at times. All in all, though, I don’t see much of a problem with it. Once Richard calms down and comes to, he realizes his mistakes (with some guidance) and apologizes, then goes back into whatever he was so passionate about or against. I respect that about him.

I hope nothing bad happens to Richard. It’s a random thought, but it’s one that is stuck in my mind right now. Maybe it’s because I’m looking across the room at Richard right now as he sleeps or maybe it’s because of something else. I’m not sure. All I know is that Richard shouldn’t be harmed. Who would want to hurt him anyway? I like to believe that most people would take one look at him and feel bad for ever feeling inclined to do anything harmful to him. He’s too sweet, too young, too… pure.

His eyes are my favorite feature about him. They’re vibrant, especially in the right lighting. Sometimes I’ll take a moment to look into them while he talks. He probably thinks I’m just paying close attention to whatever he’s going on about, which I am, but in reality, I’m studying their color. I’ve finally narrowed down what they remind me of.

His eyes are blue, for starters, and while that color may remind some people of the sky, it reminds me of something else. Every time I look into his eyes, it feels as if I’m engulfed in water. I’m not drowning or struggling against a current of any sort, but I’m surrounded by calm seas that gently rock me into a state of serenity. The water is always warm and it caresses my skin as if it’s afraid of wrinkling it after too long. It encloses itself around me so securely yet so loosely that I somehow manage to feel free even in the midst of being within it confines. It’s such an odd feeling. It’s one I’ve never experienced until I met Richard. Maybe because I didn’t tap into my senses and emotions before meeting all of them, but I’m not sure. All I know is that I’ve only ever thought of his eyes in such a enamored way.

Do I feel things for Richard? I probably do. I mean, it isn’t normal to ache for someone’s touch nor is it typical to wish that they’d stay up with you until the sunrise just to spend as much time with them as necessary. But what am I supposed to do with any emotions I may have? I can’t act on them. I can’t take things very far with where we are now. Richard deserves more than this and I’m a giver. It would kill me on the inside if I were to be with him and know that I could never give him everything he deserves. I would feel too much guilt to do much of anything, to be honest. I know that that isn’t fair to either of us and that I’m selfish for something like that, but I can’t in good conscience pursue Richard. The stars weren’t aligned correctly when we met and they aren’t aligned correctly now either. They’ve always been so close to matching up with one another, but they’ve never actually done it. Fate and the stars are the worst. If they were real, they wouldn’t do things like this to unsuspecting and innocent people like us.

Now after thinking about this, I feel angry. I’m angry because if things were different, Richard and I would probably already be something more. I’m angry because if things were different, Ollie and Schneider would probably be married at this point. I’m angry because if things were different, Till and Flake wouldn’t have to be as hesitant as they are when it comes to their love. 

I’m angry that this is the life that we were given. I’m so unbelievably angry. Nothing I do ever takes away the rage that builds in me daily. Nothing makes it better either. The thought of escaping makes my blood boil, and it makes it boil because I realize that I shouldn’t even have to escape the place that I live in to go and live elsewhere because my life sucks as bad as it does here. This is my home. This is where I’m from. I should want to stay here and have a family of my own, but that is the last thing on the face of this Earth that I would ever want. I want to be as far away from here as possible. I don’t know what I’ll do when I’m out, if I even get out, but I don’t care. I don’t care because at least I won’t be here. At least I won’t be suffering.

Every single day, I think about my family. I think about having them ripped away from me. I remember the last time I saw my sister and I can recall what my parents were wearing when they were escorted out of our house and taken away. My sister was sickly and pale, but she still managed to smile at me that morning. She always did. I was her little brother and all that she had left. She was all that I had left, too. The least she could do was attempt to add a bit of light to our lives since our parents had been taken away. That day, the government came around and performed their triweekly medical checks on everyone. I passed with hardly flying colors, but she didn’t. They grabbed her and forced her out of the house without allowing us to say anything else to one another. I was so shocked that I couldn’t even do anything. I regret not running for her. I regret not doing anything to try and stop them. But then again, what could I have done? I was just a boy. They were grown men with weapons on them. They weren’t afraid to kill a kid. They weren’t afraid to kill anyone.

That was the last time I ever saw my sister. It still haunts me.

As for my parents and what they were wearing, I’ll always remember it. My mother was wearing a shawl that she had knitted herself and had on a dress beneath it. My father was wearing stained pants with holes in them, along with a shirt that was missing a few buttons. Their outfits weren’t anything spectacular, but I remember them because once upon a time when I was even younger than I was at the time, they weren’t as rugged. My mother’s dress was clean and had no wrinkles in it, and my father’s pants were new and his shirt had all of its buttons. Over the years, whether or not their clothes looked presentable became the least of their worries. I doubt that that was what they focused on when they failed their wellness checks and were taken away from my sister and I, too.

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs as I watched them go. I ran to the window and watched as they were lead away, but I didn’t do much else. I couldn’t. Even at that age, I knew that I would be shot and killed for showing any sort of disdain or anger towards something the government did. A kid shouldn’t have to hide their emotions like that. They also shouldn’t have to lose their entire family within the course of three weeks, but that was what happened to me. That was what happened to a lot of us.

A part of me wants to know what they did to my parents and sister, but then another part doesn’t. I know that the reality of it will only hurt me more. They were probably lined up and shot in the back of the head so they could fall effortlessly into whichever mass grave was in front of them. The government saw no purpose in saving the sick. To them, the ill were nothing but wastes of space. Even if they were something as important as a surgeon or a scientist, if they failed their wellness check, they were met with the same fate that everyone else like them was. They never spared anyone. They never cared that much.

That’s why I’m angry. Well, that’s part of the reason. There’s so much more that I don’t have time to write down right now, but you get the gist. The government sucks, they kill people, they killed my family, and made me suffer through a bunch of shit when I was a kid, and even now as an adult. It’s fucked up. All of it. We shouldn’t have to live with and through things like that. We’re humans. We’re people. We deserve to be treated as such.

Richard is awake now. He’s the only one awake with me. I’m fine with that. It gives us time to eat breakfast with one another.

Hell. This might be the last time I ever do something like that with him, or just in general. We leave in about two hours now. I better get my fill of Richard before we have to go.

I don’t know if this will be the last thing I ever write, but I’m hoping it won’t be. I’m also hoping that the breakfast I’m about to share with Richard won’t be our last either. However, I’m not stupid. I know the chances of us actually succeeding are low. That doesn’t mean that I’m not going to try, though. I’m going to try like hell to get out of this shithole, even if I’m nearly dead once I get out.

Things will be alright. Even if I die, I’ll be fine. Death is better than this. Death is an escape that I’ve wanted to take many times. I haven’t, though, obviously. I can’t die until I at least try to make life better for myself. So with that being said, if I die during this ordeal, then so be it. At least I tried, right?

It’s time to get up and face the day. It’s time to get out of here once and for all. Let’s do this.

6.9.92

—

“The house is quiet when everyone else is asleep. It’s kind of like Heaven.”

“If that’s your version of Heaven, then that’s sad, Richard. That’s really sad.”

“Hey! I said ‘kind of’ in my statement!”

“And? It still doesn’t make up for the fact that you called this silent piece of shit Heaven!”

“Whatever, Paul. You’re just trying to upset me.”

“Me, upsetting you? I would never. Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Because you hate me, that’s why.”

“Ah, yes, you caught me! I hate you, Richard. I hate your guts.”

“Why my guts?”

“Why not your guts?”

“You’re stupid. I don’t know why I like you.”

“That makes two of us. I don’t know why I like you either.”

“Whatever, liar. You know exactly why you like me.”

“Ah, do I? Why do I like you, then, Richard?”

“Because I’m me and it’s impossible to not like me.”

“…That is the worst and most conceited thing I have ever heard anyone say. I hated every second of it.”

“You love me, don’t lie! You can’t get enough of me.”

“Yeah? And what if that’s true?”

“What if what’s true?”

“What you just said.”

“Why would that be true?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re the one who said it.”

“…You know, you’re confusing, Paul. I don’t know what to think of you sometimes.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“You’re just… I don’t know. I’m going to sound ridiculous if I say something about it because it doesn’t even make sense in my head. If I try to say it out loud, it’ll turn out even worse.”

“Yeah, I get that… But hey, if you want to tell me something, the offer is on the table, considering this is the last time we will ever sit at this table.”

“You’re somehow making this even harder than it needs to be.”

“I don’t mean to, Richard. I’m just saying.”

“You… I… Ah, I can’t. It’s better left unsaid.”

“It’s okay. I think I know what you want to say.”

“I doubt it.”

“I don’t. But just so you know… I think the same thing is better left unsaid on my side, too. I just want you to know that before we leave.”

“…And what the fuck is that supposed to mean, Paul?”

“You know what it means, Richard. Don’t play dumb. Now, if you’re done, give me your plate so I can wash it off. You need to finish packing your stuff anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Here. I’ll go pack.”

“Good… Hey, Richard?”

“Yeah?”

“I just wanted you to know that I… It’s better left unsaid.”

“…Yeah. It’s better left unsaid.”


	8. Acht—Schneider.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneider’s POV where he recalls the abuse he went through with his parents and others before he met Till.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Physical abuse, brainwashing, implications of sexual assault.

## Acht—Schneider.

5.9.92

Tonight marks the last time that I will ever fall asleep in this house that I've lived in for the past four and a half years. It's a bittersweet moment, despite my disdain for being stuck in such a place. I don't dread the fact that we're leaving. I'm happy that we're getting out. This is no place to live. Rather, it is admittedly difficult to say goodbye to the place that gave me a chance to become human.

I was the first one that Till took in. For a long while, I didn't speak after he and I began living together. I wasn't talkative. I never spoke to anyone, and that included others that I worked with. It wasn't because I was unsocial or had no interest in talking to others— It was because I knew that if I opened my mouth, all I would do was scream. I'd scream about the blood that stained my skin and clothes. I'd scream about the pain and heartache I felt when I had to put innocent people to death. I'd scream about the fact that my parents had done horrible things to me. I’d scream about the random people that hurt me. I'd scream about... everything. Every single thing that I had gone through.

Till, I think, noticed this. He didn't pressure me to speak. He would share sympathetic gazes with me and offer me things in a quiet voice, such as food, water, clothes, blankets, and anything else of the sort. He took very good care of me because that's the kind of person he is. Till puts others before himself, but at the same time, he's not hesitant to care for himself either.

One can want to help as many people as they want here, but at the end of the day, they need to help themselves, as well. No one survives alone here. I tried to.

Till was, and still is, one of the fortunate ones. His house has running water, even if it's unclean and unsafe to drink at times, he has electric for several hours a day, his roof is intact, and he has things like beds, a working shower, and a stove to make living just a bit better. It doesn't sound like much, but it is. It's more than I had before we met.

Here, you have to live with someone else for the sake of your own safety. Living alone isn't forbidden or illegal by any means, but it is common knowledge that one should stay with someone else rather than live on their own. Unknowingly, I attempted to do so. I didn't know any better. I had never lived in an area like this until I was twenty one.

It was the winter of '87 when I was banished from my parents' house. They lived in a nice neighborhood. They had all of the things that a house outside of this country has, simply because they were rich due to my father's job. His line of work is similar to mine, except for he was recruited by the leader of the country himself to lead people to their deaths, whereas I only got my job based on the scores of my tests. He was one of the many men who would round up the sick and sentence them to death. He would often joke about it once he returned home; boasting about the disgusting poor people that he had the pleasure of getting rid of and bragging about how well off we were. I never saw anything wrong with it as a child. I didn't know any better. It was all that I had grown up with. 

The government attempts to brainwash people. It worked for me. From the moment I was born until the moment that I was thrown out into the snow by my father, I was brainwashed. I viewed others as less than us. I believed they should be killed for what they lacked and who they were, because I had been taught that we were the only ones worthy of life. They told me time and time again that those people had a choice as to whether or not they wanted to be poor and sickly. They claimed that if they simply studied more or applied themselves more to their jobs that they would be better off than they were, but instead they decided to sit back and complain about what all they didn't have. I had never seen anyone who wasn't like us, as in rich, so I didn't know that what they were saying wasn't true. They had pulled the wool over my eyes and I fell into their trap. 

Still to this day, I feel so dirty for believing such lies. Ollie tells me that it isn't my fault because I was manipulated and didn't know any better. Perhaps he's right, but it doesn't change the fact that I was a horrible person for feeding into the stories they told me. 

My parents were cruel people. My mother was excused from work, as were most women who were married to a man who worked for the government. And with myself being the son of a man who made enough money to support all of us, I didn't have to find work until I was sixteen. Even then, I had a choice of jobs. I didn't have to take any sort of test like everyone else did. I chose to be a traffic controller for the army base a short distance away from where I lived. All I did was guide tanks and convoys in the right direction and show them where to park and whatnot. It wasn't a great job, but it was better than watching people being sentenced to death, or being the one who took their lives from them.

My mother was heavy handed. She believed in punishment as much as she believed that we were superior to everyone else. Sometimes she would simply hit me to hit me. Whenever she would be frustrated at something, I was what she took it out on. She'd yell at me. She'd punch me. She'd slap me until my face was as red as a beet. She'd scream in my face. She'd rip the hair from my head. She shoved me down the stairs a plethora of times. She didn't care if she hurt me. Why would she? To her, I was nothing and I had never been anything else.

Whenever my father saw what she had done to me, he would blame me instead of her. It was always my fault. If I had acquired so many injuries, then clearly I had been the cause of such bruises and marks. Clearly, I deserved them. There were many nights where my father would then do the same to me. He'd hit me even harder. He pulled a gun on me a handful of times and waved it in front of me, his finger over the trigger. He would've shot me. He almost did once. He shot over my shoulder and the bullet just barely grazed my skin. I couldn't even move. I stood there and stared at him, too scared to do much of anything. I remember he laughed at me. He laughed and laughed until he could barely breathe, even as he pressed the barrel of the gun to my chest and used it to cower me back into my room. Once I was inside, he shut the door and locked it from the outside.

I stayed in that room for five days. For five days, I lived in a room with no bathroom, no food, and no water. One of the corners had been where I relieved myself. Another was where I gathered what I could to attempt to distract myself. Then a corner on the opposite side of the room had makeshift tools that I could use in attempt to free myself. 

I pounded on the door, but it didn't budge. I broke four knuckles in the process—two on each hand. I kicked the door so hard that I broke a few toes, as well. I tried to open the window, but the damn thing must've been sealed. I even tried to stomp a hole into my floor to get out. Nothing worked. No one came. No one cared. They kept me in there and laughed outside of my door when they heard me crying and screaming. They made fun of me for my pain.

I don't know what made them hate me so much. Perhaps it was because I was nothing like my older sister. She was attractive and smart. She paid attention to our parents and gifted them with things that she had crafted. They were always so proud of her. She could do no wrong. I, however, seemed to do everything wrong.

When they finally opened the door, I ran out, only to be punched in the face by my father. I was weak. It sent me to the floor. I didn't move after that, even as he and my mother entered my room to make fun of all that I had ruined and destroyed. They mocked me for the torture that they put me through and told me that I was just as disgusting as the poor people who lived outside of the walls of our neighborhood. I was hurt by what they said, but I couldn't bring myself to cry. I was too dehydrated. At that point, it felt as if all of the water in my body had dried up.

I was barely conscious when my father dragged me over to the corner that I had relieved myself in. He threw me down face first into it and stepped on the back of my neck to make sure that I stayed there. I wish I could say that I fought to get away, but I didn't. I was too weak to do anything. 

My sister wouldn't look at me for weeks after that incident. It didn't matter how many times I showered. It meant nothing to anyone that I had gone through three bars of soap within a week to try and scrub my own skin off because I couldn't stand having it on me anymore. From then on, I was seen as so much lesser than them that I was no better than the people that my father marched to their deaths.

I was seventeen when that happened. I lived in that house for three more years before I was kicked out.

All I had done was stare at a man during one of my shifts at the army base. He was attractive. I couldn't help but admire him. He was much older than I was at the time. Maybe in his thirties or so. Someone had caught me staring and alerted my father. They claimed that I was a homosexual and that I was publicly lusting after other men. It didn't help that he was older, either.

When I returned home that evening, I received the worst beating I have ever endured. My mother and father were relentless. They hit me, punched me, bit me, scratched me, kicked me, threw things at me. They did whatever they could to destroy me—to bring me as close to death as possible without actually killing me. They kicked in my teeth and broke my nose. They ripped out so much hair that half of my head was left bald. They broke three of my ribs and twisted my ankle so far back that I couldn't put any pressure on that foot for two months after. They spit in my face and slammed my head into the walls and doors with so much force that I lost consciousness several times. They hated me. I meant nothing to them.

My sister came rushing down the stairs. She opened her mouth to yell for me, but she knew better than to do so. The main thing that everyone in the government desires is obedience. I wasn't obedient and therefore was receiving my punishment. She followed every rule and did whatever our parents pleased, and she remained unharmed. I know that it hurt her to see me undergo such treatment. I could tell because she began crying, but walked away before our parents could see.

That was the last time I saw her.

When my parents were finished with me, they kicked open the door and threw me out into the snow. They didn't say anything to me. They didn't take another look at me. They didn't do anything besides lock the door and shut the lights off outside of the house.

I laid there, bleeding out into the snow, wearing practically nothing at that point, until a group of men that my father worked with picked me up and forced me out of the neighborhood.

I never stepped foot in that place ever again after that. I never saw my parents again either. I do at times miss my sister, but then again, I don't. She could've done more. She could've tried to save me, but she didn't. But I understand why she didn't. It's every man for himself in this country. She had a good life and didn't want to ruin it. If I were her, maybe I would've done the same thing.

After that, I was taken in by an elderly woman who found me struggling to walk down the street. She took me in and cared for me. I didn't say a word to her. I viewed her as less than I was because she was poor and sick. I flinched away when she went to touch me, only to then realize that I was too cold and in too much pain to care for myself. I reluctantly allowed her to take me into her home and nurse me back to health. That was when I began realizing that my parents had lied to me throughout my entire life up until that moment.

I didn't speak for months. I told the woman my name and that was it. 

She died at the beginning of February in '88. I didn't know that you were supposed to report a person dead to the government once they passed. I didn't know what was supposed to happen. The only thing she taught me how to do was test for a job and I had already done that, so there was nothing else to do up until that point. 

I let her body sit in the house for about a week before it became too much to handle. Yes, I was already working as a guard, which is still my current job, but I didn't know how to properly dispose of bodies yet. Instead of alerting the government, I took her body out into the street and laid it there on my way to work one morning. By the time I came home, she was gone. 

But so was her house.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where to go. I walked the streets until I couldn't anymore. When the siren for curfew rang out, I darted into the first house that I saw, even though it had a large 'X' on it. I was in there alone. There was no furniture, no food, no heat, no power. Nothing. It was empty. At that point, I didn't care. At least it was a place to stay.

I wish I had known that living alone was dangerous. I wish I had known so many things, but I had no guidance or experience with anything like this. I headed into it blind and attempted to live, but I failed miserably. I feel as if I have failed at most everything. 

I didn't live there for a more than a single night before a group of men broke in the following day when I returned home from work. I was a mess from what I had done and witnessed that day. Blood soaked me to the bone and screams filled my mind. I had no time to relax before the intruders came in through the front door.

I won't go into detail about what they did to me. It was far worse than anything my parents had ever done. Every night, they would follow me home from work and do unimaginable things to me. Then they'd leave. They'd leave me to lay there, naked and used, and wide awake for hours upon hours. The next day at work, I'd be unbathed and wearing the same clothes that I had worn the day before. People looked down upon me for it, but didn't say anything regarding it. I was the perfect fit for the job that I had gotten. I didn't speak. I didn't flinch. I didn't hesitate. I did what was asked of me and I didn't fight anyone about what was being done.

I was what they wanted. An emotionless man who knew better than to speak up about anything that was happening.

A few days before February ended, I began living with Till. He worked in the same area that I did. He noticed me leaving one night and wordlessly put his hand on my shoulder. I didn't react, even as he lead me in the opposite direction of where I lived. He didn't seem to care that we didn't know each other. He didn't seem to mind that I was covered in blood and many other fluids, and smelled so bad that I nearly vomited every time I got a whiff of myself. Till just wanted to take care of me, and he did.

The first night was odd. He directed me to the shower and stripped me of my clothes. I only allowed it because I was so traumatized at that point that I couldn't move or stop him. I expected him to do what those men had done to me. But he didn't. Instead, he turned the shower on and guided me into it. He handed me two bars of soap and three clothes to wash myself off with.

I stayed in the shower for an hour and a half. I used an entire bar of soap and then half of another. The first cloth was so dirty that Till ended up throwing it away. I felt bad for wasting his resources, but I had to clean myself. I couldn't live in filth anymore.

Till washed my uniform and returned it to me the following day. The stains were gone. It didn't smell. It was soft to the touch. I don't know how he did it, but he did. Later that night when I returned home, he shaved my head, since my hair was uneven and unruly. He buzzed it down to my scalp to give it a fair chance to grow back properly. After that, he shaved my face and most everything else. He said that I needed to look presentable for work because the higher ups were beginning to talk. I will always be thankful for him for that. He saved my life. He helped me when no one else would.

Till is... my savior, in a way. Without him, I would be dead. I would've died that February back in '88.

But I didn't. I didn't because of him. And now here we are. Following Till's plan to escape in September of '92.

So yes. It is bittersweet to leave this house. I never grew up with my parents. I never learned from them. I did my growing up and learning here, with Till and the others. I learned to love. I learned to think. I learned to trust people. And most importantly, I learned to live. Now, I have an even better shot at life, once again because of Till.

I hope Till knows how much he means to me. Perhaps I'll tell him tomorrow morning before we leave. I don't know if we'll get out alive, so it's better to say my piece to him before we go.

This begins my last night in the house that fostered my growth as a person. As a human being. As a man. As a friend. And as a brother in this family that we now have.

I'm ready for something better. Hopefully we find that something better.


	9. Neun—Till.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till’s POV as he takes a moment to admire Flake whilst Flake is asleep.

## Neun—Till.

Meine Gedanken.  
3.9.92

The night is calm and still, yet I can't find peace in slumber. Beside me lays Flake, and to his other side is Paul. Paul has shivered once or twice recently. I hope he isn't falling ill. In a few days, we'll be attempting to escape. We won't postpone it, even if he is sick. One more ailment and it'll be his last, I reckon. Paul is the smallest out of all of us. He's more susceptible to colds and whatnot because of it. In the morning I'll have to fetch him some medicine. I don't want him to continue feeling poorly.

The moon is bright tonight. Maybe it's too bright and it's causing a shift in my mind and being. I wouldn't know, seeing as I am not the moon and therefore do not know of the secrets it holds, nor do I know what it's capable of, but surely it must be something if we were all racing to get to it at one point. I often wonder what it's like in space. I wonder how the world looks from the surface of the moon. One can assume that you aren't able to see all the wars and fights on Earth from all the way up there, but maybe Earth radiates a certain aura that shows outsiders that we truly aren't doing well. Perhaps that is why thus far, aliens have seemingly kept their distance. Why disrupt their way of life by intervening with us in the midst of our own chaos? If I were them, I'd stay far away from Earth. I'd even jump to another galaxy if possible.

I sound childish talking about such a thing. I should leave the talk of stars and the moon to Oliver. He stares at the sky every night before he goes to sleep. I'm not sure why. It doesn't seem like he prays or devotes himself to a God of any sort, but almost ritualistically, he looks up to the stars and doesn't say anything for a long while. At times, one of the others will sit with him, though it's mostly Schneider who does so. I've done it before in attempt to see what Oliver sees. I can't tell what's so captivating about the sky in the middle of the night or during the day. Whatever Oliver sees must only be visible to him. Maybe I'm too old to see it, since he's much younger than me— Eight years younger, in fact. They say that the youth are more in touch with supernatural or ethereal things. It wouldn't surprise me if Oliver is. He's always been rather different.

I can't remember if I noticed anything about the sky when I was younger. I didn't think about much of anything back then, though. My mind wasn't my own. I had no thoughts or beliefs that belonged to me. They were simply intrusions that had been forced into my subconscious by everyone in my life; my parents, my grandparents, my leaders, etc. I knew nothing about anything, except for what people had told me. That's how we all start out. We hear one thing and then grow up to discover that it's completely false. Sometimes we learn to deal with it and other times we don't. I don't know whether or not I deal with it appropriately. I'm guessing not since I've planned an escape with five other men.

If in the end it turns out that we are crazy, then so be it. I, for one, believe we're perfectly sane. We have more drive than anyone else in this country does. We're the only ones who have ever tried to do anything like this, after all.

I don't know how to feel about the risks that come with what we are going to do. A part of me is anxious, but another part isn't. It's not as if we haven't been faced with death since childhood. We have. We have been threatened with it and have made acquaintances with it because of how often it comes around. If I meet my death when we go to escape, I don't think I'll be scared. I think I'll sit back and let it happen. There won't be anything else left to do. And realistically, it's another route of getting out of here. The downside is that I will do the one thing that I absolutely do not want to do, which is die here, in this sad excuse of a homeland. But if this is where I die, then what am I to do about it? I can't very well resurrect and come back to life long enough just to die once I've barely gone beyond the country's borders. That wouldn't be much different anyhow.

Not dying is preferable, but I am willing to accept my fate when it comes to me.

I'm almost thirty, you know. On the fourth of January, I'll turn thirty, Gods willing—and I say 'Gods' because I don't want to exclude any that may exist. I need all the support that I can get during a time like this. If I don't live to see thirty... Well, there's not much I can do about it, but I would like to live for three entire decades. I'd especially like it if I were able to begin a new life during that third decade outside of a place like this. Am I so fortunate to experience that, though? Is a man like myself able to achieve the freedom that he was supposed to be given upon his birth? Again, I'm not sure, but one can hope. That's all we have in this reality, aside from dreams, though I think they tend to go hand in hand. Nothing else is allotted to us here. 

I wonder what life is like outside of here. I don't know the specifics of living conditions elsewhere, but I'm sure that it's better than what we face here. Hell itself is most likely better than this. At least in Hell your loved ones don't leave you. If they do, then... somehow it's still better than this place. 

I don't know which country I'd like to flee to. Flake once mentioned Italy, but I don't know much about it. He said that he once read about a car that came from that country, but that is the extent of his knowledge regarding such a place. It's better than nothing, though, which is what I have. Perhaps Italy will become our new home and we will drive that car that Flake saw in whatever newspaper he had managed to get his hands on.

The thing is, I wouldn't need or want a car if I were to end up in Italy. I'd simply want to go into a field, lay there, and embrace the feeling of freedom. I'd want to rest on the ground and feel the grass and wheat around me; tickling my toes and brushing against my fingertips as bugs hum and buzz around me. I'd close my eyes and let nature engulf me in all of its beauty and purity, and I'd give myself to all that I'd feel in that moment. Flake, I hope, would join me. He would lay down beside me and look over at me, although I'm sure that my eyes would still be closed. Like always, he would grin faintly and then look away, as if he were taking a moment to let the sight of me sink into his brain. Flake is a simple man. Once he sees something he loves, he stares at it until he memorizes it and then doesn't stare again until he needs another fill of whatever it is. It's one of the reasons why I love him—why I want to stay with him once we get out.

Flake and I could live in a quaint house in the countryside or on a lake. I enjoy the water. I was a swimmer in my youth as I've mentioned before and my love for fishing and things of the sort has yet to fade. I haven't done anything like that since I was about twelve, but I still remember how to do all of it. I don't know what I'll do the morning where I wake up and inevitably forget everything I once knew about the sport. I think that might be the day that I fall apart completely. I hope that day doesn't arrive before Flake and I go to the mysterious Italy and find ourselves a place to live by a lake so I can foster my desire to fish once again. Flake knows nothing about fishing, but I would teach him. I would take hours out of my days just to do so. I like to share with him the things that I love. It's what allows us to connect more, and it's what got Flake to open up to me.

You see, Flake is a personal man. He's strange and very withdrawn. He's shifty, just like his eyes. However, he's funny and smart when you least expect it. He has a way of saying things so nonchalantly that you nearly miss them if you don't catch onto what he's saying. Flake is one of a kind. You have to be on your toes around him. That's what got me interested in him, to be completely honest. I like having to study a man's movements and motives and thought process to anticipate what may happen next. That's exactly what I get when it comes to Flake.

Right now as he lays at my side, he has an arm around my waist. His grip is loose, but it's there. Flake isn't very strong. He's a frail man. I've tried numerous times to feed him more and urge him to gain some sort of muscle, but his body won't take any of it. It doesn't matter if I find plenty of meat for him to feast on and it makes no difference if I have him carry heavy things around the house. He stays as skinny as he is and nothing changes. That doesn't make me love him any less, keep in mind. His physical appearance would never turn me away from him, even if it were to drastically change all of a sudden.

I wish I could describe what Flake looks like as he sleeps. He sheds himself of the circular glasses that he wears during the day and allows his hair to do as it pleases once his head hits the pillow. His shirt rides up and exposes his sharp hipbones and prominent lines on his lower abdomen, and his pants slip down to show just a bit more skin. His lips part once he falls into a deep sleep, but he never snores. He breathes calmly and slowly, and will at times mumble something incoherent. He's prone to having nightmares sometimes, but I've trained myself to wake up at any sign of one. If I'm able to wake him before it becomes too much to handle, I can save him from an anxiety attack. If I'm not, then I take a few minutes to calm him down before we fall back asleep.

At the moment, Flake has half of his face buried in the pillow and the hand of his opposite arm curled into a fist. It rests below his chin. He looks so peaceful and innocent when he sleeps. His eyes are shut delicately and his fingers are curling in ever so slightly as they rest on my back. His legs are just barely twitching every so often and his toes are wiggling much like always as he moves about in his dreams. 

Flake is so beautiful. He's stunning to me. He's very tall and skinny, and he has bright blue eyes that couple well with his pink lips. God, he's perfect. He is one of the angels' finest creations. I do at times believe that Flake was crafted solely for me, in terms of us being soulmates. Flake is everything I have ever needed and wanted throughout my years. He has been the feeling of distant connection that I've felt beneath the surface of my skin since I was a boy. He has been the silhouette that I've seen in my dreams since I was in my preteen years. He has been the love that I've longed for since I was a teen. And now that I'm in my twenties, he is the life partner that I wish to have until the day that I die, and even after that. I want to be with Flake even after our souls are no longer on this Earth. I want to give everything of mine to this man until I have absolutely nothing left to give.

I'll even give him my life. I'll give him my life if that's what it takes for both of us to escape this place together. I don't want to leave if he isn't with me. And if he leaves, then I will be short to follow.

Gods, give us strength with this risk we are taking. Be with us and guide us. I know that it's a lot to ask, but we can't live like this any longer. We can't possibly take another month of this.

Flake is waking up now, probably to use the bathroom. Every night around the same time in the evening, Flake wakes up to use the bathroom. I've gotten it down to a T now, I think, so that I can wake up at the same time to find an excuse to kiss him and run my hands over his body. He becomes so flustered in these hours of the night, but it never stops me. I love him. I love all of him. I will never love anyone else as much as I love him.

—

“I’m cold. I want more blankets.”

“Our other one is still hung up to dry. If we use it tonight, it’ll get moldy and wrinkled.”

“I don’t care. I’m cold.”

“Somebody’s awfully whiny tonight. Why don’t you go get a jacket of mine, hm? Put it on and then come back to bed.”

“If I get out of bed again, Paul will wake up and that’s the last thing I want.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because he’s whiny when he wakes up.”

“Well, my dear Flake, you are not too far off from that right at this moment. It seems as if you’ve become what you despise.”

“…Don’t make me mad, Till. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m not trying to make you mad, my love. I was just teasing. Come here, lay in my arms. I’ll keep you warm.”

“But then you’ll be cold.”

“Ah, I couldn’t care less about myself. Come here, Flake.”

“Well… Okay… Am I too bony?”

“You ask me this every time I hold you and what is always my answer?”

“That I’m not too bony.”

“Exactly, so why would you think that the answer is any different now?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… I wouldn’t like holding me if I were you.”

“Holding you is one of the only things I ever want to do. I think about it when I’m at work, you know. I’ll stand there next to Paul and I’ll daydream about you. I’ve gotten so good at doing it that not even he notices when I’m thinking about you.”

“You sound lovesick. That’s not healthy.”

“Are you sure? I’ve never felt better.”

“Why do you love me so much?”

“Read the note that I wrote for you again tomorrow. It explains it.”

“Can you tell me some of it right now?”

“Well…”

“Please? Please, Till? If you tell me some of it, I’ll go to sleep after.”

“…Alright, alright, fine. But only because I love you. Pick a number between one and twenty.”

“Okay, um… Eight.”

“I somehow knew you’d pick that number. Let me think about what I wrote down for eight… Ah, okay, eight was that one, right, right… I don’t know, Flake, are you—”

“Till, please, I want to hear it. It’ll help me sleep better.”

“You say this as if you’ve never read the note before.”

“I have, but I want to hear you say it aloud. It’ll be different that way.”

“Alright, that’s fair. Anyway… Eight… The eighth reason on the note as to why I love you is this: I love you because of the way you touch me. Your fingertips are cold against my skin every time they are to meet, but it’s never frigid. It’s never anything that would cause me any harm. I’m hotblooded with a short temper and enough anger to cause the plates beneath the surface of the Earth to shift. You calm me down, even when you least expect it. The slightest touch from you is able to bring me down from even my worst of fits of rage. You often don’t mean to do it either. It’s as if subconsciously you know that I need you in those moments… as if we are connected in one way or another. We are drawn to one another, just as magnets are pulled to each other and just as the tide pushes itself to the shore. We are hot and cold, which are different, yes, but we come together to create something so warm that I could never, ever feel anything but calm and collected in the midst of such a sensation. That is one of the reasons as to why I love you.”

“…I love you so much. I really do…”

“Love me forever, Flake. Love me until we can’t love anymore.”

“How could I not? You are the only person I have ever loved.”

“I know that, and I love you. Now… Are you tired enough for bed? Are you warm?”

“I love you, too. And yes, I’m ready for bed. I’m warm enough.”

“Good, good… In the morning, I’ll wake up early and make you your favorite breakfast. How does that sound, hm? Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Mhm. I’d like that.”

“Good. Go to sleep, Flake. Have sweet dreams. I love you.”

“Okay… Goodnight, Till. I love you.”


	10. Zehn—Oliver.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver’s POV where he talks about his day at work.

## Zehn—Oliver.

Ollie. 30.8.92

I didn't like work today. It's bad everyday, but today was so, so bad. I don't like what I do. I wish I could have another job, but I can't have one. We don't really get to choose what we do and what we don't do. If you skip work then they take the money you get that week for food and other supplies. If you skip twice then they take more money. If you skip three times... I don't really know what happens. People just vanish. I don't know if they're killed or thrown into prison, but I never see them again. I never hear from them again either, though I guess I never heard from them in the first place since you aren't allowed to talk at work... I mean, unless your superior addresses you. Then you have to speak. It's seen as disrespectful and defiant and suspicious if you don't.

I don't like talking to my superiors. I have many of them. I've said what my job is before, but if anyone by chance comes to find this entry in particular, I'll say again what it is I do: I work at the weapons dispensary in the line of government buildings attached to the capitol building and I drive government and military officials who use our weapons to wherever they're going so I can oversee them as they're being used, since the weapons aren't allowed to be left unattended with someone who isn’t certified to supply them. That means that I have to watch as the higher ups kill people. 

Most of the time I accompany them on death marches. I try not to look, but it's really hard not to. I don't know why I can't just face forward like everyone else, but I have to see what's happening. I have to know that it's real to remind myself that I need to stay in line so something like that doesn't happen to me. It's difficult to deal with. I have nightmares about watching them kill innocent people. I always thought that I was alone when it came to feeling like that about a job like mine, but then I met Christoph and that feeling faded. His job is worse than mine though, I think. He kills people himself sometimes. I don't think I could ever do that.

But today, I had to watch them do something different. I don't even know if I can write about it because it's so bad. We've gone into houses and I've stood at the door as they've shot people for being criminals or whatever else, but... we've never gone into a hospital and killed people. That’s what we did today.

When they told me that we were going to the hospital, I contemplated crashing the car. I didn't know what they'd be doing or who they'd be killing, but... it's the hospital. You can't kill people who are in the hospital. It's not right... but then again, neither is killing in general, unless you're defending yourself against someone. I wish I had just swerved off the road and wrecked the car. They would've killed me for being incompetent and unable to do something so simple, but I don't think I would've cared. I knew that allowing something like that to happen would eat me alive and now that's it over and done with, it is. I feel just as guilty as they should because I didn't try to stop them. I didn't try to change anything.

We got to the hospital and I stayed behind them like always. The hospital isn't very nice. It's dirty and small, but it has several stories, all meant for different things like surgeries, births, injuries... Things like that. One level of the building hosts children. They keep them away from the adults so it's easier for the doctors who specialize in taking care of kids to find them. I almost had a heart attack when I saw that they were going upstairs to that specific floor. I didn't know what was going to happen. I was hoping that someone had escaped and had fled to that level of the hospital, but one can never be so lucky here.

I... don't know why they did it. I don't know why they opened fire the minute that we walked into one of the children's recreation rooms. My mouth fell open and I nearly screamed, but I put my hand over my mouth before I could. They would've shot me too if I had screamed. They sent bullet after bullet into kids. Literal kids. And they didn't even flinch. They didn't care. They didn't hesitate either. It's like they're programmed to kill somehow. That's the only way that they could ever do something like that and live with themselves for it.

A doctor came running up to us and asked what we were doing. She was clueless as to why they had just shot eleven kids until they were dead. They told her that they had gotten an anonymous tip that the children had cancer and that they were better off dead. The doctor didn't say anything. She had tears in her eyes, but didn't allow any to spill. She knows better than to fight against the government and military, just like the rest of us. I swear I could see her heart breaking in her chest as she forced herself to nod before walking away. As far as I know, one of those kids could've been hers. One might've been her favorite. I'll never know now. Maybe that's for the best, though...

I didn't have anymore runs today after that. I was told to go home early, but I stayed and helped Richard clean and count the guns that the people I was with had used. He saw that I was upset. Once the door to the vault was shut, I told him about what happened. Like always, Richard teared up and swore to me that one day he'd kill those men himself for doing things like that. Richard is always very emotional. Sometimes I am too, but not as much, I don't think.

Richard is one of my best friends. He isn't afraid to show affection and emotion, and I like that about him. It makes it easier for me to feel okay with my own emotions. I mean... if nothing has happened to Richard thus far despite the fact that he's shown that he isn't emotionless, I might be okay, too. I hope so, at least.

After we finished cleaning all the weapons and putting everything back where it belongs, we left together. We walked back to the house and we were the first ones to arrive. Usually someone else is home before we are, but it's the beginning of the week so sometimes the others get caught up in their duties for a couple extra hours. For some reason, seeing that we were alone didn't help how I felt. As soon as Richard closed the door and locked it, I started crying. I tried to be quiet with my sniffles and gasps, but Richard heard me from where he was in our room. He came out and comforted me, but that only made me sob. Richard is smaller than me (like everyone else), but it doesn't ever stop him from holding me really close and tight to him. He calls me his little brother and swears that he'll always take care of me. I believe him. Even if sometimes he's a lot to handle, I love him a lot. I never had an older brother as a kid, so it's nice to have one now.

Richard wiped away my tears with his thumbs and then helped me get changed. He pulled off my shirt and got me into a new one, and then did the same with my pants and underwear. He even let me borrow some of his socks. He found a pair of them that are really warm and fuzzy on the inside, and he lets me wear them when I don't feel good or have had a bad day at work. Even if he wants to wear them, he'll make a bargain with me— He wears one sock and I wear the other.

I'm very fortunate to have Richard in my life. I don't know what I'd without him.

I laid down in bed after and Richard started making dinner. Flake came home a few minutes later and checked on me before he went to help Richard. Flake is always gentle with me, too. I think they all try to take care of me as best as they can because I'm a lot younger than them. I'm only twenty one. Flake and Richard are both twenty five, Till is twenty nine, Christoph is twenty six, and Paul is twenty seven. I wonder if I'll ever grow to be as old as them. I wish to, but nobody can predict what happens here. Sometimes people die on their birthdays or anniversaries, either by coincidence or because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or because the government is cruel and they sometimes just kill people to kill them. I hope that that doesn't happen to me. I don't want to die on my birthday or Christoph and I's anniversary, which would be his birthday. It's his birthday because that's when we first kissed. That means that we've had one anniversary so far. I hope we can have another.

Christoph isn't home yet. He's usually the last one home. It doesn't stop me from worrying about him, though. Till just came in and he's talking to Richard and Flake as they cook. Paul's probably here too, since he and Till work together, but I haven't heard him. 

Oh, wait. There he is. He's singing in a really deep voice and pounding his hands against the counter. He's strange.

It's nice to hear everyone talking. When Paul first showed up, we didn't really say anything. We were all too hesitant to. I don't know why because Paul is harmless, but I guess that's just how we are. We're wary of a lot of people. You kind of have to be to survive.

I've heard stories of government officials posing as regular citizens to infiltrate people's houses to see how they live. I think we were all expecting Paul to be one of those officials since the rumors started up around that time. Since people can't talk at work, we talk as we walk home. Well, some of us do. I don't. I'm too scared to. I just keep quiet and listen to others. Richard tries to do the same, but he's kind of a loud mouth and has a lot to say sometimes.

It sounds really bad, but I wonder how the government hasn't punished him in some sort of way yet... Richard is a force to be reckoned with. I think they should feel threatened by him.

Christoph is home now. Maybe I'll write again later, but right now I just want to be with him. He always makes the worst of days so much better. I love him so much.

—

"You know the things that you say to me? That it isn't my fault?"

"Yeah, I know those things..."

"You need to listen to them right now and apply them to yourself, okay? What they did isn't your fault, Ollie... You didn't tell them to do that to those children. You didn't pull the trigger yourself."

"I know, but there's so much I could've done. So much, Christoph, and I... I didn't do anything. I just let it happen."

"One day, life will be better than this. I promise."

"Yeah, _my_ life. Not theirs. Not theirs because they're dead. I let them kill them." 

"Oliver... I can't explain why certain things happen and I can't even begin to wonder why some people do the things that they do... but you have to remember that other people's actions are _not_ your fault. You cannot control what they do and here, in our lives and where we live, we have no say in what it is they do. Had you spoken up, you would've ended up dead just like them."

"I deserve it. I deserve it because now some parents are never going to see their kids again because of what happened, because– because I just stood there and let it happen."

"No, Oliver. Look at me, right now. You _do not_ deserve to die because of what they did. You don't deserve death for anything that happens, even if you were there. You knew it was wrong. You recognized that their actions were unacceptable and you told yourself that you would never, ever allow anything like that to happen if you had any say in a situation like that. That's all that you can do here, my love... That's it. I wish it was different. You know I do. If I could change all of this just for your sake, I would. I would do anything in the world for you... You know that, right?"

"I know, I just... I feel so bad. I feel so bad and my heart hurts, and so does my head and I... I want it all to stop, Christoph. I wanna find a way to make it stop."

"I know you do... I know, Ollie, and one day, it will."

"But when? After another roomful of kids are killed? After I'm taken on another death march? After they've decided that I'm not good enough and they shoot me or do something else to kill me? When will it end, Christoph?"

"I don't know. I don't know and I wish I did, but grasping for answers when it comes to questions that hold nothing but emptiness only slow us down. We can't be slowed down when it comes to something like this... We can't take a day to ourselves and we can't take a moment to fight back because it won't make a difference. We're stuck like this until we leave in a week. That's it, Ollie, just one more week and we'll be getting out of here."

"...What if we don't get out? What if something happens to us?"

"If something happens to us, then... that's just how it is. Death is one way of getting out of here."

"I don't want to die unless I'm with you."

"You won't die without me. I'll be by your side. I promise."

"How should we die, then? We have to plan ahead."

"Well... I'd like to be foolish for a moment and say that I want us to die peacefully in our sleep as we're holding onto one another, but I know that that is unlikely. So I guess my more realistic wish is for us to die a quick, painless death. Maybe by getting shot in the head or the heart... I don't know. I just don't want it to hurt."

"I'm okay with being shot in the head. Is that how we'll die, then? We'll be shot in the head at the same time?"

"Yep. That's exactly how."

"Can I make an adjustment to it?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"I want us to be holding hands when we get shot."

"With our fingers intertwined?"

"Of course. That's my favorite way to hold your hand."

"You're so cute. God... How did I get so lucky?"

"You didn't. Everything in this country sucks, so at some point, you'll realize that I suck and you'll hate me."

"I would never think you suck and I'd never hate you. How could I hate you? Look at you. Those eyes, those lips, those hands, your body... You're so beautiful. You're my beautiful boy and I'm so in love with you that I could never even dream of falling out of love with you."

"Mm... Say more nice things. It's time to look at the stars."

"Of course. Speaking of stars... I thought of something recently, because of you and your love for them."

"You did? What was it?"

"No, no, don't look at me. Look out the window."

"But you're so beautiful, Christoph, I just wanna stare at you—"

"But yours stars, my love. They're counting on you."

"Mm... Fine. There, I'm looking at them. Now, keep going."

"Good boy. I love you. As I was saying... When I couldn't sleep the other night, I was looking out the window as I held you. I noticed that one star by the moon that's always brighter than all the others... and I wondered why it was so drawn to the moon. Then I thought... that they were like us. You can be the moon because whenever I look at the moon, I think of you. Your eyes remind me of the moon, too. They're wide and bright, and it's almost like they hold their own world in them..."

"Do you think there's life on the moon?"

"I'm not sure, but I know there's life in you, even if you feel otherwise at times. But the moon and that one star... They reminded me of us because no matter what, they stay together. Even when the moon changes phases, the star remains. I bet that when it gets too cloudy to see the sky, they're still right beside each other, too. They never leave one another's side, even when things change. That's how we are. We stay with each other no matter what."

"...Did you really think that or are you just making it up so I feel better?"

"Why would I ever make something like that up? It took me an hour or so to come to that conclusion. You know I'm not great with love."

"I think you're fine with it. You love me with no problems at all."

"Loving you comes naturally, that's why. I don't have to try to do or be anything."

"Well, good, because I like you how you are and for who you are."

"...You make me believe that happiness exists outside of what we have."

"Really?"

"Mhm... It's... a lot to handle and to think about, but that's how I feel. That– That's how you make me feel."

"Oh, my gosh... Am I witnessing an emotional breakthrough?"

"Shh, you'll ruin the moment."

"Oh, God… You’re such a dream. I love you so much."

"I love you just as much. Do you feel okay now?"

"I feel okay now. Are you handling your breakthrough well?"

"No, no, no, I said 'shh'. So, shh."

"Fine, I'll be quiet... but just so you know, I'm very glad that I can make you think that."

"I'm very glad that you can, too."


	11. Elf—Flake.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flake’s POV where he talks about when his parents abandoned him as a child.

## Elf—Flake.

Der 23.08.92  
Die Lage: das Schlafzimmer

I don't have any energy to write, but I also don't have much else to do this evening. Today was my first day back at work after the weekend so I'm tired. Whoever decided this year to change our weekends to Friday and Saturday wasn't thinking properly. I enjoyed having Saturday and Sunday to myself. Adjusting to a new schedule is difficult for me. I still haven't grown accustomed to working on Sundays and not working on Fridays yet. The others don't seem to mind, but they deal with change better than I do.

I don't like how hot it is right now. Nothing ever stops the sun from shining as bright and as hot as it does during this point in the summer. I wish my clothes were less heavy than they are. That way I wouldn't dread walking home from work as much as I do. I get very sticky when I'm sweaty. I don't like it. It makes me feel disgusting. Till doesn't mind all the sweat, but Till doesn't mind a lot of things. He's much more lenient than I will ever be.

I feel like I'm stuck to the bed right now because of how humid it is inside the house. At work, we have air conditioning for the summer and heat for the winter, but we don't have that in the house. When it's hot, we open the windows, but then bugs come in so we close them to make sure they don't get into our food and beds. During the winter, we seal up the windows and the back door, and only open the front door when necessary. Paul doesn't like this because he enjoys running outside seconds before curfew starts. The winters here aren't kind. They make me anxious sometimes with how bad they are. They also make me think of my childhood since winter was when my parents vanished.

I was young when my parents left me. I was only ten, but I can remember it all very clearly. When I think about it, I'm able to see myself sitting at the kitchen table, fiddling with a spinning toy I had as my mother grabbed her things and walked to the door. 

"Where are you going?" I asked. I turned to look at my mother, but she kept her gaze away from me. My stomach was growling because I was hungry and the shirt I had on was stained badly, but my mother didn't seem to care. She looked exhausted. Even being as young as I was, I could tell that she was tired. "Is Papa going, too?"

"Yes, he's coming with me," she told me, "We're just going for a walk, Flake."

"Oh. Okay. If you're going to the store, can you buy more bread? I used the last of it earlier for a sandwich."

"Sure," my father said, "We'll buy some."

I told them that I loved them, but they didn't say anything back. They looked at me for a long moment before my mother pushed the door open and stepped outside. A second later, my father followed.

That was the last time I had ever seen or heard anything from my parents. Once the front door to the house was shut, they were gone and I was left alone.

When evening rolled around, my parents still hadn't returned. I was worried, but I ignored any feelings of anxiety as best as I could. It was the beginning of fall and the new harvest was coming in and being sold in the markets. I figured they were there and buying more food than necessary. Looking back now, I realize that I was too hopeful as a child. I should've known then that they'd never return, but I didn't come to think of it quite yet. With that, I went to bed and slept until the next morning.

When I woke up, the house was empty. I woke up with a headache from how hungry I was. I didn't feel good so I called out for my mother. When she didn't respond, I shouted again and got out of bed to begin looking around. I thought that maybe I had overslept and she and my father had gone to work already. When I looked at the clock, I saw that I had slept late and that they were most likely at work. I didn't know what to do, so I waited at home and occasionally glanced out the window and the door, looking to see if either one of them would come around. That night, I fell asleep without anyone at home again and I began having nightmares—ones about where my parents were and whether or not they were okay.

Again, I woke up and I was alone. I got out of bed and began crying when I looked around and called out for my parents. I received nothing but silence. The tears were hot and heavy on my cheeks and splashed onto the floor at my feet. I remember wandering around the house with my arms wrapped around myself and anxiety causing me to shake so bad that I could hardly walk. All I could think was, "Where are Mama and Papa? Why aren't they coming home?"

I didn't know anything. I didn't know who to call, what to do, or what to think. My parents weren't around often when I was younger, so I hadn't met or formed relationships with their families. I had never met our neighbors properly either. Because of that, I was completely alone. A part of me knew it, too. I tried to sit down and pray for them to come back, but I didn't hear anything in return. I fell asleep by crying in my parents' bed, with my face buried in their pillows and sheets as I sobbed even in my dreams.

The next couple days were a blur. There wasn't much food in the house and what I could make and eat, I had consumed. I was left with almost nothing and along with that, the water from the sink wasn't clean. Whenever I drank it, it stunk of something as foul as rotten eggs and tasted like it, as well. I began feeling sick and out of touch with reality. At one point, I sat down in the kitchen against the cupboards and didn't stand back up, even when the front door was knocked on and then opened less than a minute later.

Three government agents stood in the doorway with flashlights and weapons in their hands. Had I been more conscious, I would've been scared, but I was too sick and weak to do anything by then. Besides, the government agents weren't as scary then as they are now. They weren't nice, but they helped a bit more than they do nowadays. I watched as they searched around the house and kept to myself. My head hurt and my stomach ached. I wanted to feel better and if I couldn't, then I didn't want to feel at all.

"Christian? Is that your name? Are you Christian?" One of the agents asked me.

I opened my mouth to reply, but my voice wasn't there. My throat was dry and my tongue didn't seem to want to work. Since I couldn't speak, I nodded instead.

"Christian Lorenz, is that your name?"

Again, I nodded. 

"Good. How old are you, Christian? Do you know how old you are?"

I held up every finger on both of my hands for a moment before my arms shook too much and my hands fell into my lap. Even the simplest of movements were too much for me. I was ten, at least I thought. I didn't know how many days had passed and I didn't know what was happening. I started thinking that perhaps all of this was a hallucination and that it wasn't real. Maybe it was a dream.

"Ten, hm? You're young. Can you tell me where your parents are?"

"No," I said, "They left."

"They left? When?"

"I don't know."

"Alright... When's the last time you ate or drank anything, Christian?"

"I don't know... I don't feel good."

I didn't say anything else that after that because I lost consciousness when another agent shined a bright light in my eyes. My head hurt so much from that alone that I almost screamed before I blacked out.

From there, I was given to the neighbor after I was taken to the hospital. They cared for me and nursed me back to health. It only took a couple days, but a part of me wished it had lasted longer. It was interesting to see the doctors working. I always wanted to be a doctor. I want to be a doctor still now. It doesn't seem like something like that is in the cards for me, though.

The neighbor was nice. She wasn't a good mother figure, but she took care of me as best as she could. She had four other children that were hers by birth, and then there was me. I felt like an outcast. I felt like I didn't belong. I never said much to the other children and I didn't ask her for anything I didn't absolutely need. I think she was thankful for that.

Along with not wanting to feel like a burden to her, I was also scared of asking for things because I had believed that it was what caused my parents to leave. I viewed myself as too much to handle and bear, and it scared me. I didn't want someone else to leave me or get rid of me. I don't know what I would've done had it happened again.

When the woman died, I was sixteen. One of her sons offered me to live with him and I said yes. I didn't mind him, but I didn't know much about him either. We lived together a few streets away from where his mother's house had been and he invited more people to stay with us. I don't know why he didn't stay with his siblings, but they all parted ways. In fact, I haven't seen the other three since the day that their mother died and I haven't seen the brother I lived with since one of the men we lived with died when I was twenty two. After that was when I began living with Till.

Sometimes I think I have no reason to fear as much as I do. The others have been through worse, but they aren't as fragile as I am. I look at Paul and Richard, and I wonder how they are as strong as they are. I watch Ollie and Schneider interact with each other and I don't know how they're able to find love despite what they do and see on a daily basis. And Till... Till has been through a lot. I feel deeply for him. It isn't my place to talk about his trauma, though. I'll keep it to myself unless he ever gives me permission to openly write about it.

Maybe one day I'll overcome my fears. I don't know, though. They eat me alive somedays. Living here cultivates and harvests them, and then it buries me alive. Maybe something is wrong with my mind. That is the only explanation I can come up with. Something isn't right with my brain and it may never be. Till tells me to embrace it because it makes me different, but it also makes me so anxious that I can hardly get out of bed somedays. Many mornings, Till has to coax me out of bed or he has to reassure me that everything will be okay before I even contemplate moving. He shouldn't have to do that. He has things he has to do before work, but sometimes he can't do them because of me. It's selfish that I require so much from him. I feel like I'm taking away a part of the limited life that he has here.

Why Till loves me, I don't know. I feel like I ask too much of him and I feel like a burden. I've felt like that for fifteen years now and it doesn't get any better as I get older. I relied on my parents and they left. Till relies on me and I won't leave, but I wonder why he stays; why he still loves me when he has four others around him whenever he comes home from work. Why me? Why would he love me? I ask Till these questions sometimes, but he doesn't like it when I do. He can't see why I find myself to be unlovable. A part of me should love him for that, but the darkness in my mind tells me that I really am incapable of being loved, even if Till is the one and only exception to that.

Love is a dangerous thing. It's like a double edged sword. You can either stab the other person or you can stab yourself. I would never hurt Till, so if one of us ever gets hurt, it'll be me. I would sacrifice and hurt myself for him if I ever needed to. I hope it never comes to that, but I'd want to save Till instead of myself. If I'm broken now, then I might be broken even years from now. Till was broken once, but he's healed over the years. He deserves to live the life he didn't have before now outside of here.

Speaking of Till, he's home now. Tonight I'll refrain from asking him any questions like that for both his sake and mine. From the sound of it, it seems like he had a bad day at work anyway.


	12. Zwölf—Richard.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard’s POV where he realizes that he sold himself for drugs back when he was younger.

## Zwölf—Richard.

Tagebuch — August 4th, 1992

Ah, to be a butterfly flying around outside right now. There's one by my side on a piece of grass and it's just sitting there, flying from side to side occasionally when the wind blows. It hasn't flown away since, though. I'm starting to enjoy it's company because of it. Am I foolish to think that it enjoys my company, too? Why else would it stay if it didn't?

Today is the first day that I've had off in... God, I think twelve days? I worked over the weekend last week because I was told to. Ollie was told to work as well, but they let him off the hook at the last second. I wish I hadn't gotten off too, but I know better than to complain. Besides, I guess it wasn't too bad. I didn't do much besides clean weapons and organize them. I just wished to have had a weekend off. That's all.

One day, I'll stand up to them. I'll tell them 'no' or I'll walk away when they're talking to me. I haven't planned it out yet, but I'll do something to defy them. I have to. They're asking for it most of the time. Someone has to do it eventually, and that someone should be me. I think Paul could do it, though. We don't have the same job, so I don't know if they'd react as strongly as the agents at my job would, but... Do we really want to risk it? I don't think so. Not yet, at least. If things get worse, then maybe, but until then, we can stay compliant.

But God help them if they tell me to work over the weekend again.

Anyways. Today is beautiful. The sun is shining, the butterfly is still here, and Paul is outside with me. He's drinking what seems to be alcohol, because he won't share and he's acting a little dumber than usual. Paul's a funny drunk. I cry when I'm drunk... but then again, I cry even when I'm sober, so it's not much of a difference. I guess drunk Paul isn't much different from normal Paul then either.

Till is an angry drunk. He'll throw things and yell, then he'll shove his face into the pillows and cushions of the furniture and scream until one of us calms him down. He's okay when he's just tipsy, but once he gets drunk, it's almost like it's every man for himself. Nobody wants to get into a fight with Till to begin with, let alone drunk Till. He's very neutral most of the time, but when something goes wrong or if someone hurts one of us, Till tends to get a bit in over his head when it comes to anger. I guess that's not bad, though. It shows that he cares. But if he could show that he cares without sending his fist through a wall, that'd be nice, too.

Flake talks a lot when he's drunk, which is completely unlike him compared to how he is when he's sober. Typically, Flake talks about his disappointment towards a lot of things and views everything negatively, but he's cheerful and chatty when he's had something to drink. He'll strike up conversations with us and laugh when we tell jokes, and he's got a few up his sleeve, too. He has an odd sense of humor that you have to really to pay attention to in order to pick up on it. I like it, though. Flake is different.

Schneider... Jesus, Schneider turns into a mess when he's drunk. He can be a little bit of everything. Sad, horny, stupid, philosophical, happy... It's a crap shoot when it comes to him. The last time he got drunk, he ended up grabbing Ollie's hand to shove it down his pants in front of all of us, then started to grind up against his palm after. Schneider was too drunk to realize that he was very well fucking Ollie's hand, but Ollie hadn't drank at all and was redder than ever before. He snatched Schneider's hand out of his pants and forced him into the bathroom to run him a bath and calm him down. It didn't work though since twenty minutes after they were out of the bathroom, Ollie was making more noise than I've ever heard him make because of whatever Schneider was doing to him. At least Schneider can still fuck well when he's hammered.

That brings us to what Ollie's like when he's drunk. Ollie is shy and talks even less than Flake does, which is difficult to do. Ollie's still pretty quiet after he's had a bit to drink, but watching him attempt to move around is hysterical. He's the tallest out of all of us and he's already unsteady on his feet as it is, so he turns into a newborn deer trying to walk when he's drunk. He'll fall flat on his ass after trying to stand up or he'll just topple over when he's walking. You'd think that he'd act like a child and start crying after falling so hard, but he just looks up with wide eyes and is as confused as ever as to how he could've possibly fallen down. He's also a bit more affectionate, too. He's already attached to Schneider as it is, but he one time jumped into Schneider's arms when he was drunk. It's funny to watch a man who's well over two meters tall jump into his shorter boyfriend's arms. It's also adorable in a way.

I, like I said, cry a lot when I'm drunk. But I also flirt... Which is yet another thing that I do when I'm sober. I guess I'm not drastically different, then. That kind of sucks. I'm not special in any way in that aspect.

When I was younger and rebellious, and casually jumping between houses because my bullshit parents, I would do drugs. They weren't hard to come by, actually. I knew where to go and I knew who had what, so it was easy for me. It also helped that I slept with one of the main dealers on that side of town. He'd give me whatever I wanted if I did him sexual favors, so I did. 

My God. I was a prostitute...

Ah... Oh, well. What am I gonna do about it? We've all been there before.

It wasn't so bad. He was a lot older than I was. I was fifteen the first time I did anything for him and eighteen the last time it occurred. He was in his late thirties throughout that time. He was okay looking, but not anything to write home about. His facial hair always grew in unevenly and his hair was too long for my liking, but I had no control over it. I chose not to look at him, even when he opted to give me head or take the reins and fuck me. It would've turned me off and being that age and desperate as ever, I didn't want to risk anything. That, and I didn't want my steady supply of drugs to suddenly vanish. 

Sometimes he would get me to do things to his friends. I hardly knew any of their names. They were all older like him and just as unappealing physically. I told him that I wouldn't do anything to or for them unless they gave me things in return and because of that, he made it so that they did. They'd give me money, clothes, a place to stay, drugs, alcohol, food... Whatever I needed that week to get by. I was forced to begin working at the age of eleven since that's when the government made all of us get jobs and I wasn't living with my parents, so I was struggling to provide for myself and just survive in general. Drugs were my escape from the reality that I was facing. My mother didn't love me, my real father had left, and the man that my mother had labeled as my new father beat the hell out of me more times than I could count. My dealer and his friends knew this because I told them about it and they felt bad for me. They did what they could and gave me what I wanted, after I took care of them, that is.

I remember one time I was so angry at him for finding another boy like me. He was around my age and he was struggling like I was... but I was so jealous at my dealer because he was giving him more attention and he was providing him with better drugs. I know because I stole some of them from him at one point or another to see what all they did for him. When I found out that they were stronger than what I was given, I grabbed a knife and ran up to my dealer, whose name was Amon.

I can't remember exactly what I said, but it was along the lines of, "Get rid of that ugly fucker or I'll get rid of your balls."

Needless to say, it was enough to scare him into pawning the little shit off to one of his friends. He later told me that he found it hot that I threatened him. I thought that that was weird, but I didn't think much of it until he threatened me the same way one night a few months later. He pressed me up against the wall and held a knife to my neck. I was terrified. I almost pissed my pants, but I kicked him in the groin and ran before I could. For a while after that, I stopped seeing him, but I quickly realized that I couldn't get through the day without something to help me, so I ran back to him.

How I managed to get high off my ass all the time and never receive three marks for being under the influence at work, I don't know. Three marks were the most that you could receive before the government inflicted punishment on you. I always scored one or two marks, but never three. Had I done that, I'd probably be dead right now.

I think the inspector that saw me during that time liked me, though. Whenever he'd come around, I'd smile at him and flirt with him. At first, he didn't say or do much of anything, but he loosened up as the months went on. He even smiled at me one time. I'll sound stupid if I say that I think he swapped my urine for his sometimes when he thought I was too high to pass the urine test, but I think that's what he did. I should've hit three marks many times, but I never did. If I found him again today, I'd thank him and kiss him right on the lips. He saved my life if he had really done that.

I was cute as a teenager and I'm good looking now. I've always been blessed when it comes to that sort of thing. Flake is a gangly little (tall) thing and Schneider's hair when I first came here did not suit him at all, but you know, they'll grow out of those looks soon enough. Before I know it, Flake will be cute and Schneider won't look like he was electrocuted.

Till looks fine. He's a very handsome man. Just by looking at him, you can tell that he's strong, capable, and dominant. It's a turn on, if I'm being honest, but I keep my distance because I respect what he and Flake have. Ollie is nice to look at, too. He has more calming features than Till does, but something about his gaze can be so... powerful sometimes. Since he doesn't speak much, he uses facial expressions and whatnot to convey his feelings. Sometimes when he's angry, it's like a fire will light up in his eyes. I can't explain it, but it's interesting to witness. Schneider got lucky with him. He'll be attractive for a very long time.

And Paul... Paul is a dork. He looks like an idiot, but I can't get enough of it. He has a god awful haircut where it's short at the front and long in the back, but somehow he pulls it off. It isn't fair. He should look ugly with a haircut like that, but he doesn't. He looks fine. He also has this small but pointy nose that makes him look like a mouse, but at the same time, his nose is kind of big. Not to mention that the skin around his left eye and eyebrow is wrinkled from a burn he got when he first began working with Till. But you know, even that doesn’t look bad on him. Nothing about him makes sense. Is he even real? He can't be real. There's too many things about him that are too confusing to make sense of.

It seems like I'll have a long time to decipher all that Paul is. I hope so, at least. Life is a little better with him in it.

...And everyone else, of course. But there's something about Paul. I've known it since the day he first arrived.

I sound like a girl with a crush on one of her classmates. It's embarrassing, but how am I supposed to ignore Paul when he's laying down in the grass next to me and picking the petals off of a flower he found next to his head? How am I supposed to look at him and not feel anything? It isn't fair. None of this is fair, but this is the one thing that I can deal with, even if the tension between us nearly kills me somedays.

The other night, I stepped out of the bathroom and the second I came into the room, Paul looked up from his journal and stared at me. He swallowed hard and looked me up and down, and then he smiled with a blush on his cheeks. I don't know what made him so flustered. He's seen me and the others naked plenty of times before, but he was particularly shocked that time. However, it didn't deter me from blushing and feeling a little something because of it. I liked it when Paul looked at me like that. I liked having him stare at me with that look in his eyes.

Right now, he doesn't have that look on his face at all. He's smiling and putting the flower petals on his forehead in whatever pattern he can get them to stay in. He keeps telling me to look and I am. I can hardly ever look away from him. Everything he does is something I want to witness, even if he's being stupid.

Paul's grown so much since he first came here. My first entry of him compared to now should show you that much. I can't wait to see what he'll be like after he's been here for a full year. As of right now, he's only lived with us for three months. Three months and I swear a part of me already loves him.

I won't tell him that, though. I won't tell him until I'm sure of how I feel.

Maybe that day will be soon or maybe it will never come at all. Who's to say? I'll let you know when, or if, I tell him that I love him. You'll be the first besides him to know. You hold all my secrets after all, diary. Keep this one for now until it becomes a reality, then I'll share that with you, too.

For now, I'll enjoy my time with Paul in the sunlight. Maybe I'll even put those flower petals on his forehead for him since he can't seem to do it well enough himself.

—

"Richard? Richard, are you awake?"

"Hm? Yeah, yeah... I'm awake. I'm up."

"No, you're not. I just woke you up. Go back to sleep."

"No, I'm okay, I promise. Look, see? I'm awake. What did you need?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to see if you were up."

"I am now... Are you okay?"

"...I don't know. Has Till told you about his plan yet?"

"Plan? What plan?"

"The one about breaking out of here... Like, escaping the country."

"Ah, that one. I didn't know he still wanted to do that."

"What do you mean?"

"Till's had that plan in his head ever since I showed up. I'm surprised he let you know about it."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"I don't know. He was hesitant to tell me, so I figured he'd be hesitant to tell you, too."

"He was, a little... What did you say to him about it?"

"I said that I'd go with him if he ever did it. He'd need all the help he can get if he wanted to do it. And I mean... I kind of want to go, too, Paul."

"Me too. I don't want to live here anymore."

"Yeah... Can I ask you something, Paul?"

"Anything. What is it?"

"Did it hurt when you burnt your face that bad?"

"Honestly? I didn't even really feel it at first. It was my second day at work when it happened. It hurt so bad that it just felt like... nothing. They gave me burn cream to rub on it and we left it at that. When we did that is when it started to hurt."

"I remember you showing up with all those nasty blisters on your face. You weren't pretty to look at."

"How about now? Am I better to look at now?"

"You're one of the most beautiful things here to look at."

"Hah! Yeah. Whatever. I don't believe you. Half of my face is still recovering and it's gross. I'm not attractive now and I wasn't attractive before."

"If anyone ever said that to you, they were lying. You look fine."

"...Richard Kruspe, are you flirting with me?"

"I have been since we first started talking. Nice of you to finally catch on."

"You have not been flirting with me since we started talking! You're full of shit!"

"I am not! You are! It's not half of your face that's burnt, by the way. It's maybe a third of it."

"Half, a third. Practically the same."

"No, they aren't! They're completely different!"

"You're just mad that I'm calling you out for being full of it!"

"Oh, please, Paul—"

"I understand that you two must argue in order to get yourselves off every night, but I'm tired. Please stop scream whispering."

"Nice going, Richard, you disturbed Papa Schneider."

"No, I didn't, you did!"

"Nice try, but it wasn't me, it was you!"

"You're the one who started the argument!"

"No, it wasn't!"

"Yes, it was!"

"It was not!"

"It was!"

"Could you both _shut up_? Paul, you started it, and Richard, you're no better because you retaliated to it. There, argument over, now go the fuck to bed."

"See? I was right."

"You're annoying, that's what you are. Now, face the other way in your bed. I don't want to look at you."

"You won't have to look at me if you just close your eyes."

"You know what? Just because of that, I'm going to sleep with my eyes open."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Paul, you can't do that."

"I can and I will just to show you that it's possible. Here, watch, I'll start right now."

"...Okay, that is terrifying. Please stop."

"No, this is how I'm going to sleep. With my eyes wide open."

"Paul, _please_."

"No. Never."

"...Your eyes are actually very unique."

"...I— What?"

"Your eyes. They're unique. They're gray and blue and green all at once."

"They are not. You're just saying that—"

"I'm not. They're unique... They're stunning. They look like the color of the sky right now."

"You really think that?"

"Yeah, I mean... They're nice to look at, Paul. So are you."

"Well... Thank you, Richard. You're nice to look at, too."

"Thanks. I try."

"Great. Now that you've reconciled and flirted a bit, will you please go to sleep?"

"Yes, Papa Schneider, Richard and I will go to sleep now. Goodnight, Papa Schneider."

"Yes, goodnight, Papa Schneider."

"I hate you both."

"Aw, but we love you!"

"We do. Love you so much, Papa."

"...Fine. I love you, too. Goodnight."

"Oh, how sweet. Goodnight, Schneider. Goodnight, Richard. Love you."

"Goodnight, Paul. Love you lots."


	13. Dreizehn—Paul.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul’s POV after Till tells him about his plan to escape the country.

## Dreizehn—Paul.

To whoever's snooping and looking through my shit and reading this, even though I said I wanted a private journal to write in,

Something really weird happened last night. And I'm not talking about something like someone started sleepwalking or someone tried breaking in, or that I saw a ghost or something like that. It was weird as in kind of illegal... Alright, _really_ illegal. I'm paranoid now over it. I shouldn't be because this place has proven itself to be a safe haven, but I'm still anxious from it.

Till told me last night that he has plans of escaping the country. I didn't believe him at first, mostly because Till doesn't seem like the type of person to want to try and do something like that. He also seems to enjoy our life within the house, but I guess not, considering he had in depth details regarding how he could possibly escape. It involves darting through a bunch of the government buildings to slip through the wall and door that lead into the country that borders ours. He had directions laid out, he had worst case scenario options, he had everything. Every little bit of this plan has been thought over a hundred times, at the very least, and he is completely serious about it.

What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to react to something like that? Yeah, I want out of here, too, but... Fuck, wouldn't we die? We'd die, right? We wouldn't even stand a chance, I mean— These guards that protect the border are brutal. They'll kill anything that moves. It doesn't even have to be a human. If a deer wanders up to the wall, it's shot dead. They don't want anything coming in or anything going out. They want to keep us corralled here and so far, it's worked. Till has to be crazy to want to do something this risky. That's the only possible explanation.

What makes him ever crazier is that he said that he wants us to come along with him! He wants us to run away with him! Don't get me wrong, I hate living here and I hate everything about this shithole, but... Jesus, escaping through government buildings and throwing ourselves outside of the wall that keeps us separated from everyone else... We'll die. We will all die. Maybe by chance, _one_ of us will get out, but not all of us. I don't think it's possible. And that one who manages to break past the border has to be strong as all hell to do it. It could never be me. I'd be dead within a second. I'm not fast, I'm not strong, I'm not all that handy with any sort of weapon besides a couple of guns, and I'm... me. I'm me and I have no luck, no purpose, no nothing. I have nothing, so why would I be the only one who gets out alive? It doesn't make any sense. If I did get out alive, I'd be tortured until the end of my days and that doesn't seem all that great. In fact, it sounds worse than living here.

God. I don't even know, though. Maybe in that situation, I'll still hate this place more than torture.

I can't even think. I can't form a coherent thought, I can't see straight, I can't stop myself from shaking. I'm so fucking conflicted that it isn't even funny.

I want out of here so bad. So bad, you don't even know. I'm sick and I'm tired, and I'm done. I've spent my entire life wondering if I'll be taken away at work and killed for doing something wrong. I've bottled up my fear since I started living here regarding the fact that that same thing could happen to one of these guys one day. I've watched my family be ripped away from me and I've had to grow as a person in such messed up ways and timelines that it's crazy. Maybe I'm crazy. I don't even know, but what I do know is that I can't do this for much longer. I can't, I really, really can't. I want out, but there's no way of getting out. I'm just— _We're_ just stuck here. 

Lately, I've been more scared than usual. People on the streets have been talking about things that the government has been building out in the countryside. They say that they look like small villages, but the buildings are unlike any shops and houses that anyone's ever seen. There's also fencing all around the 'village' or whatever it really is. Yet another way that they can trap us and keep us away from reality. Someone said that it's where the rich will be living since the city is becoming too overcrowded, but someone else said that they're building more places like that in other areas of the countryside. I don't know what to think of them, but something about them rubs me the wrong way. I don't think they're going to bring anything good to our lives.

I think I have time until they're actually put to use, though. According to a few people, they've been building them since the beginning of the year and they're only halfway done with them. At this rate, they'll be done around the end of this year... which unfortunately is when my birthday is. 

Jesus. If I'm sent to one of those weird villages for my birthday, just kill me. God, I'm talking to you. Just smite me. Just take me out of this world. Nothing good can come of villages with fences around them. They sound like new age prisons or something like that. Torture chambers or just... a place to harbor people who are a threat to society.

I hate them so much because there's something in my mind that tells me that I'll end up there. It rises up the back of my neck like a chill when the winter wind blows against you and it paralyzes me. I'm intuitive. I know when I should be wary of something and that is definitely one of the things that I need to keep an eye out for. A voice in my head genuinely tells me that I might end up there one day. For what reason, I don't know, but I have to listen to it. I have to take heed of the warning my subconscious is giving me.

The more I talk, the more I realize that maybe I should go with Till. I sound insane saying this, but... if I have a feeling like that, I can't just sit around and wait for it to come and snatch me away from where I am now. I have to make the decision of whether or not I want to stay in harm's way or try to run for the light at the end of the tunnel, even if the tunnel is full of guns, torture, horrible people, and potential death.

Somehow, that's a really hard decision to make.

—

"What do think life is like outside of here? Do you have any ideas?"

"Pfft. No. I can't even begin to imagine what it's like. I've gotten so used to this that everything else just seems fake."

"I understand that. I think about the outside a lot. The outside being outside of this country."

"Yeah, I get what you mean."

"Did you ever try to think about what life might be like outside of here before now?"

"I mean, I did when I was younger. When my parents and sister were taken away, I thought, 'I don't think this happens everywhere else. It can't be like this all around the world. It has to be different.' I hope I was right."

"I think you were... I met someone once who swore that they've had contact with someone outside of here."

"Oh, that's such bullshit, Till! How would they have done that?"

"They were a military agent. They worked as a linguist for the military about ten years ago."

"A linguist... Why?"

"They were used to intercept enemy radio waves and signals, and report back to their superiors about what they heard others saying."

"...Alright, you have my attention. Keep going."

"They were intercepting someone's signal one night and they were alone. The person who was being tapped in on knew that this particular guy was listening to them, so they started talking directly to him. Of course he had no way of responding, but the 'threat' that he was spying on wasn't a threat at all. They told him that they were flying overhead, as per usual, to see if a war had broke out in the country yet. That was their job. From there, they went on to talk about how barren and dull life looks here. They explained that life isn't like this everywhere. People are able to go outside whenever they please, they can socialize in the streets, their houses and businesses are well built and sturdy, and... the governments and military don't kill people and bury them in mass graves. That's what shocked them most, apparently. The graves. From an aerial view, they're horrifying according to them, as is watching us go to and from work with hardly any interaction. But they said that life isn't anything like this outside of here. Everything is different and better, and people actually have freedom and lives in other places."

"Okay, what... What else did the enemy say? Did that guy tell you anything else about what he heard?"

"According to whoever was feeding the linguist this information, a few other countries are extremely worried about us, but... the majority of others don't care because we aren't, and never were, a world power. They don't see us as important. They see this as a way of life, if they even know what's happening. The reality of the way we live isn't broadcasted to the world, Paul. Almost nobody knows that we live like this."

"So... nobody cares?"

"Pretty much."

"And nobody is trying to save us or stop our leaders from doing anything?"

"No. We're on our own."

"...What are we gonna do, Till? What even is there _to_ do?"

"We have to take matters into our hands if we want something to change. No one else will do anything for us, so we have to do it for ourselves."

"Yeah? And how do we do that? We can't riot, we wouldn't even stand a chance. We can't start a union or anything like that because we have no way to control our own money or the rules that we have to follow. And we certainly can't vote for a new leader. We have nothing. We're completely incapable of doing anything because we have no power, so how in the hell are we supposed to change this ourselves?"

"We can't save everyone, Paul, but we can save ourselves."

"Yeah? Alright, how? How, Till, tell me how we're supposed to fucking save ourselves when there is absolutely nothing that we can do to fix this?"

"We can save ourselves by fleeing."

"Fleeing. That's your plan. That's your plan, to– to flee. To just leave. What the fuck ever—"

"I'm _serious_ , Paul. I've planned it out. I know how to get out."

"You don't even stand a chance! You'll be killed before you even get close to the wall!"

"I found a way through the government buildings to reach the border wall from the inside. All I have to do is kill a bunch of people and run like hell."

"And you think they won't catch you?"

"They won’t catch me if I have help."

"...Are you seriously insinuating that I help you escape?"

"You and the others, yes. I don't want to leave without any of you either, so hopefully you’d be coming with me."

"Till... Till, Till, look at me. Seriously, look at me. This is the stupidest plan I have ever heard. We're going to run into the government buildings, kill people, and just... hope that we make it out?"

"No. That's just an overview of what we could do. I have it all planned out in detail."

"Jesus. Jesus, you're serious about this, aren't you? You really want to escape?"

"I do. I do, because I deserve a better life, you deserve a better life, and so do the others. There's more to life than this and we all know it. We can't stay here much longer. We can't die here without trying to fight for ourselves. We can't sit here and be treated like dogs until the day we die. We have to try and do what's best for ourselves, which is leaving."

"I... I don't know what to say. I don't even know what to think, it's just—"

"Do you want a family one day, Paul?"

"Me? A family? I mean... I mean, yeah. Yeah, a couple kids would be nice."

"And how old are you?"

"Twenty seven."

"By this age, you should already have kids. And what about marriage? Do you want to get married?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I want to get married. I want to be in a relationship, too, but... I can't be in one while I'm here. I can't because I won't be able to give my partner all that they deserve and it'll kill me on the inside to know that I can't provide for them. It's not fair to them."

"See? Those are reasons to get out. If we try to escape, that gives us the opportunity to potentially have things like that... Children, a partner, a family... And so many other things that we can't have if we're here."

"I'm scared, though. I'm scared because it's dangerous and– and even if it sucks, it's easy to just stay here and fear for your life."

"Life? What life, Paul? This isn't a life at all."

"I know. I know, I know, I know that, but... I'm still scared. I'm scared, Till."

"It's okay to be scared. I won't let anything to happen to you. As long as I'm with you, I won't let anyone hurt you."

"What if I lose you if we try to leave? What am I gonna do?"

"If you lose me, you'll be fine. You'll be just fine, Paul. I have faith in you."

"What? How? Why?"

"You've overcome a lot. You've done so much with your life and in these past three months, you've grown tremendously despite the odds. You have potential and you have promise. _When_ you get out of here, you'll have the life that you should've been born with and into. I know it."

"But I don't want a life like that if it isn't with any of you."

"If something happens to us, we'll be with you every step of the way from wherever we end up. I promise."

"...I– I'll think about it. I can't give you an answer right now."

"That's fine. I'm sorry if I upset you."

"I'm upset every hour of the day, I just usually do a pretty good job of covering it up. It's okay, though, I'll be fine, I just need to, like... stand in the shower and scream."

"That's understandable. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. Well, if you need me, you know where to find me."

"Yeah... Enjoy the shower, Paul."

"Thanks. And you enjoy... whatever it is you'll be doing while I shower, Till."

—

...I'm going with Till. I have to. He was right. We deserve more than this.

We can't live like this any longer. I can't live like this any longer. I want a family. I want to be married. I want to be happy. And right now, I don't have a family. I'm not married. And I'm not happy. I deserve those things and so much more—so do the others.

God, I sound crazy right now, but... I'm going to do this. I'm going to escape with Till. I don't know when or how or... anything, but I'm going to try. It's the only thing I can do in this situation.

Please, God or Gods, or whoever's listening, help us with this. We need all the help we can get.

25.07.92


	14. Vierzehn—Schneider.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneider’s POV where he talks about making love to Oliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW CONTENT.

## Vierzehn—Schneider.

25.7.92

How is it possible for someone to look beautiful even when they're a mess? Oliver's hair is out of control right now as he's sleeping next to me, but it fits him remarkably well. It's very early in the morning, but we just got finished with what we were doing. The others are up in the attic looking through the old newspapers and whatnot Till has managed to save over the years, meaning that Oliver and I have been alone in the bedroom for almost two hours now. 

Every time I make love to him, I fall more and more in love. He becomes so submissive in those moments, though he's naturally like that even in his day to day doings. He begs for me, even pleads, and then he thanks me whenever I do something that he likes. He's a small yet long man, who crumbles to pieces as soon as my hands are wherever he wants them to be on him. He falls apart so gracefully and cries out my name as if it's something as pure as the sacred texts of a religious book and it's like hearing the Heavens sing. Oliver is so beautiful and so tempting. His skin seems to invite me into him whenever we're in moments like that, and I always indulge in all that he has to offer.

All throughout the evening, Oliver was much more touchy than usual. During dinner, he rested his hand on my knee, but once he finished his potatoes, he moved it up to my thigh. It stayed there for a moment and didn't move, but when he went to take a drink, he slipped his hand towards the inside of my thigh. I wouldn't have thought much about it had it not been for the squeeze that he gave me there. He knows my thighs are sensitive and he knows that I'll do more to and for him in bed if he acts up in front of the others, which I did. I looked over at him and he blushed without even having to meet my gaze. He knew what he was doing. He always does. All I did for the time being was put my hand on top of his and brush my thumb across his knuckles, which lead to him squeezing my thigh again without meaning to. He's so sensitive and so responsive. It's fun to play with him.

That's exactly what I did. When the others excused themselves to the attic to look through Till's belongings, which I believe Till did on purpose since he can pick up on when Oliver and I want to have time to ourselves, I pushed Oliver into the bedroom and shut the door behind us. I know I should feel shame in writing about what Oliver and I do in private, but I don't. In fact, I enjoy it. It gives me something to read and look back on when I can't sleep.

The first thing I did was grab him by the jaw and make him look at me. I made him explain why he did what he did during dinner and of course, he was bashful to say why. He always is. He becomes so shy and quiet, moreso than usual, and feels too overwhelmed to speak his mind. I think sometimes he's taken aback by how much his body demands from him, but I love it, and I'll always give him everything he wants.

He told me that he did it because he had been thinking about me all day. When we sat down on the couch that morning, which was Friday morning, so yesterday, technically speaking, he felt the need to be with me. He stuck by my side throughout the day, but didn't act on how he felt other than that. He kept it bottled it up for as long as he could, but by the time dinner rolled around, he couldn't wait anymore. I reminded him that he never needs to hide his urges from me and he said that he knows, but he feels desperate sometimes and doesn't want to seem too overbearing. Oliver could never be overbearing in any sense, especially that one.

Usually he would receive some form of light punishment for something like that, but he looked so cute when he admitted that to me that the last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. He's precious. His eyes somehow become greener when he's aroused and he sinks into a mindset that I didn't know anyone could ever possess in a situation like that. He looked at me with guilt and desperation mixed with lust and I was done for. I told him that it was okay and that I would take care of him, but he said that he wanted to be punished. He insisted that he deserved to be hit or spanked for what he had done. I'm never one to say no to what Oliver wants and this time was no different, but it wasn't as bad as it normally would've been.

I sat down on the bed and had my legs bent at the knee. I waved Oliver over to me and told him to pull his pants down. Once he did that, he positioned himself across my lap and begged for me to hit him as much as I wanted. God, even thinking about it does things to me. He's so hot and beautiful, and I'll do anything he asks me to do. I said that before, but it's true. If he wants me to hit him hard, I will. If he wants it softer, then I'll make sure to be as gentle as he wants. I give Oliver freedom in those moments, all while being in control and making him feel as good as I possibly can.

I started out spanking him gently, but he quickly decided that that wasn't enough—that he needed and wanted much more than just a few soft hits. I gave him what he wanted and smacked him again and again, harder and harder until his giggles turned to moans and his cheeks went from pink to dark red. He tugged at the blanket on the bed and kicked his feet up occasionally, his thighs and hips twitching against me as he gasped and started whispering my name under his breath. Within a couple minutes, he was harder than he had been before and he was trembling because of me. He looked at me over his shoulder and whimpered before he pushed himself back towards me. How could I wait to fuck him when he did that? How could anyone have any restraint in that moment?

Oliver enjoys kissing during moments like that. When I rested my hands on his back, he was quick to move to sit in my lap and begin kissing me. Sometimes he uses his tongue and other times we allow our lips to purse together a few times before we rest them against one another's and end up grinning. We did a bit of both tonight. I bit his lips and tongue, and he moaned into my mouth as he began grinding down into my lap.

Even recalling these events makes me restless. It makes me want to grab him by the back of the neck and bend him over and take him again and again, until he's crying and I'm trembling too hard to continue with what we're doing. We've done that many times before, but there must be something about those stars of his that are making me so insatiable. They must be aligned a certain way or some must be shining brighter than others. Whatever it is, it's impacting both of us. This isn't a complaint, however. If I could make love to Oliver every single day, I would. In my ideal life, that would be what I do.

But this is what Oliver and I have, and we still find ways to make the best of it.

If Oliver hadn't have stopped kissing me, I would've kissed him until I lost consciousness from not being able to breathe. His lips and tongue are intoxicating. Once I taste them, I can't ever get enough. I want to kiss them and lick them, and bite them and claim them as mine until he decides that he wants something else. All of me wants all of Oliver so selfishly, every piece of me wants to hold him so steadfastly that nothing could ever rip him from me, even if it were a force unstoppable by man. I believe our love and our connection stretches far beyond the understandings and workings of the world and what mankind knows to be true or to even exist. No one besides us will ever know how it works, and that is fine with me. If they did know, then their love would be like ours, and I don't want anyone else to have the love that we do.

As always, I prepped Oliver before I did anything else to him. I started with one finger, but only continued with it for a minute or so. He gets impatient quickly because it isn't enough for him. He's not afraid to ask for more either, as I said before. This time, he begged for another finger rather than asking as he usually would. It showed me that he truly was desperate and that he needed much more than what I was giving him. However, I couldn't help but smile at him when he pleaded so sweetly. I did so as I gave him two more fingers instead of one. He could handle it. He's handled much more than that before, after all.

He reached down and grabbed my wrist when I began thrusting my fingers in and out of him. His own fingers were shaking as they clutched my wrist and the muscles and veins in his forearm were flexing the tighter that he held onto me. When I finger him, he doesn't moan too much, but he does whine and squirm around. He's such a lanky man, it's hard to get him to stay still and in one position for long. I think it's amusing to watch him tremble and quiver on the bed, though. To see a man as gorgeous and large as him crumble to something so vulnerable and small is like watching temples be destroyed and then built again. It's mesmerizing.

When he told me to stop, I did. Usually, I would ask him if he meant it just to tease him and to see if he really wanted me to stop or if he was just saying it to be whiny, but I knew that he wanted me to stop so we could get onto something else. I wasn't opposed to that, seeing as my self control had withered down to nothing and I was holding on by a thread. Oliver takes away all the restraint that I have and replaces it with a carnal lust and desire that I had never in my life felt prior to meeting him and falling in love with him. How he's introduced me to so many beautiful things despite our reality, I don't know. I think he's an angel. I think he may be my saving grace.

I made sure everything would be comfortable for the both of us before I began fucking him. I almost always start gentle. I give a few push of my hips to allow him to adjust and to give him a moment to breathe, mostly because Oliver tends to hold his breath without realizing it when we make love. I kissed over his neck and cheeks, and I bit at his skin hard enough to leave marks. His neck is ticklish until I kiss deeply at it and bite. He wiggles around and giggles until I calm him down and remind him that that area of his body is sensitive and is capable of much more than making him laugh when he feels down.

Once both of us were ready, I moved more. It's easy to fuck him deeply when he's on his knees. That way I can adjust his legs and hips accordingly. I grasped them tight enough to make him whine softly and push back against me, which drove me to fuck him even harder. With every pull of his body against mine, I pushed against him. We met in jarring, rough connections that were laced with desperate moans and soft gasps. We don't talk much during sex, though we don't talk much in general, so I assume it's quite fitting for us. He does, however, say my name quite often. He whispers it into the pillow when his face is shoved into it, considering more often than not, he's too shy to let me see his face. I don't know why, considering he's the most beautiful person I've ever seen, especially when his face is red from how roughly he's being fucked.

This time, actually, Oliver was a bit louder. Since we weren't fucking as ruthlessly as we do occasionally, it was unexpected. He started calling my name in a voice that was above a whisper and lifted his head up so I could hear him. He looked at me over his shoulder and begged me to go faster, to do more, to make a mess of him. I was so shocked that I didn't respond at first. Between my surprise and that blinding lust that was manifesting in my mind and being expelled through my body, it took a moment for the reality of his words to sink in. Once they did, I did what was asked of me and gave Oliver all that I could.

With my hand against his shoulder blades, I pushed him down to the bed and fucked him with my other hand on his hip to keep him near me. The second that I built up a good pace that left my hips and thighs burning, Oliver began breaking. His noises got louder and he started twitching more. His toes curled and his back arched as he pressed himself back against me, then reached down with one hand to grab himself. He whined about how hard he was and how much it hurt to be so hard because he couldn't take it. He can take it, though. He just likes to be a bit of a brat so I baby him afterwards. Little does he know that I'd baby him after anyway.

I told him not to touch himself because I didn't want things to be over yet. Oliver obeyed and kept his hands to himself. He remained compliant despite how needy he was and gripped the sheets to stop himself from touching himself, which I rewarded him for by kissing along his back and what I could reach of his jaw. By then, his noises were loud enough for the others to hear, I imagine, but neither one of us cared. I couldn't, mostly because I was just as noisy as he was. Being so deep inside him is always so captivating. It takes me out of the world we live in and makes me feel as if I'm stuck in the clouds, far away from everything and anything that could ever hurt me. I hope Oliver feels the same way when we make love. I hope that it can distract him from what we have to deal with after everything is said and done.

Oliver only lasted a few more minutes after that. He broke and begged me to let him touch himself, to which I granted him permission, only to wrap my hand around him and stroke him in time with my thrusts. Catching Oliver by surprise with things like that never fails to amuse me. The gasp that he let out when I began touching him where he needed me most was something that I won't be forgetting anytime soon. He moaned in such a desperate fashion after that and grabbed my wrist to scratch and pull at it. I hushed and calmed him before I began stroking quicker as I deepened my thrusts, just to hit those areas inside of him that neither of us can reach with our fingers.

Oliver tenses up in his hips when he's close. He also forgets to warn me at times when he's about to cum, but I don't mind. I understand that he gets too caught up in all that he feels to tell me. By now, I've learned to look for the telltale signs that he's close. Tonight, his hips were the main one. His thighs were a close second.

"It's okay," I told him, "You can cum. I want you to cum for me."

He nodded and allowed himself from there to properly build up towards his orgasm, since sometimes he tries to make himself wait for my sake. I bit at his shoulders and neck as I kept fucking him, though I was also on the brink right where he was and only seconds away from being done. However, I can hold off fairly well. I always want Oliver to cum first. I don't know why, but I want to make sure that he's satisfied. I put myself second in these positions. I dedicate all that I have and can do to Oliver. If I get nothing out of it, then so be it. As long as his needs are met, mine are, as well.

Oliver came with a cry of my name and sharp but slight jerks of his hips. He held my wrist so tightly that his hand shook and he arched his back at just the right angle that allowed me to slip as deep into him as possible. That was when I came. I didn't mean to, in all honesty, due to the fact that I wanted to wait until he was finished, but there is always something so intimate when it comes to two people coming at the same time. I can't explain it, but it did make me feel closer to him. It reminded me that we are truly connected.

I called out his name through quiet cries and groans as Oliver moaned and dropped his hand to steady his weight on both hands instead of just one. I held him where he was, lest he become too weak to stay upright, and rode out the rest of my high with gentle rocks of my hips. I didn't want to move for a long while after that. I wanted to wander far into the sensations that Oliver provided for me and never return to our reality. If I could've done that, I would've brought Oliver with me. I'd take him anywhere with me.

After we were both too weak to stay on our knees, I pulled out of him and laid him down. Oliver always asks me to stay with him after we've made love, but I know that it's better to clean him up right away than it is to wait. If we wait, then we'll fall asleep and Oliver will be a mess the next morning. I have standards and ways of doings things, as well, and that happens to be one of them.

Like always, I took a wet cloth and cleaned up the mess that we had made on the bed, on Oliver, and on myself. Then I grabbed his favorite pajamas to wear during the summer and dressed him in them. I did the same for myself after, then climbed into bed with him. I don't know whether it's simply a want or rather a dire need to be held after making love, but either way, that's what Oliver requires after we do anything of the sort. I never mind, however. Having Oliver in my arms reminds me that not everything in this world is cruel and unforgiving.

It didn't take long for Oliver to fall asleep once I had shut off the light and wrapped us up in our blanket. He told me he loved me over and over, as if he wouldn't be able to say those words ever again afterwards. He kissed my cheeks and my neck, and my biceps and my knuckles before drifting off to sleep. He always looks so peaceful when he's sleeping. His eyebrows relax and so does his jaw, and his eyelashes flutter against the tops of his cheeks whenever his eyes move around beneath his eyelids. His lips part and he breathes so softly that I can hardly hear it even though I lay right next to him. Oliver is soft. He's pure and innocent, and I will do anything and everything I can to protect him.

I love Oliver. I love him just as the snow loves to fall from the clouds during the winter. I love him as much as the flowers love the rays of sunshine. I love him more than drying rivers love a rainstorm. I love him so much that the Gods look at us from the Heavens and stare in awe of what we've managed to create for ourselves on a place such as Earth. I love Oliver more than any other human could ever love someone or something else. I am in love with Oliver.

One day, I think I'll marry him. I'll make him my husband and for the rest of our lives, we will be together and we will love one another as if it's the last thing we will ever do. Until the end of time itself, I will be in such a blinding, indescribable love with Oliver that not even the greatest of poets or writers could ever recreate a love like ours on paper or onstage. The way that I love Oliver is unlike any other, and I will continue to love him even in death.

I just... I love him. God, I love him. I am so lucky to love him.


	15. Fünfzehn—Till.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till’s POV after he tells Paul about his plans to flee.

## Fünfzehn—Till.

Meine Gedanken.  
24.7.92

I've told Paul tonight about my plan to escape. I've told him that I want us, all of us, to escape and flee. To live here much longer would surely be nothing short of a death sentence and these boys deserve to live longer than the ages they're at now. They also deserve to do things that every human being should be allowed to do and experience, considering we aren't capable of doing such things here, or are allowed to do them, I should say. They're young, impressionable, and have a lot of potential for many things. It shouldn't go to waste in a place like this.

For Flake, I see him going on to become a writer. There's a spark in him that not many have, or could even begin to relate to. He's intelligent and intuitive, yet so withdrawn and unique. He doesn't speak up unless he absolutely needs to and he puts the right amount of doubt into the correct things. He goes about things with a neutral mindset most of the time, which is beneficial to his survival and sanity whilst living here. Such attributes would assure him a grand life in a country outside of this one. He would be a philosopher, I think, or perhaps I would be one, and he would succeed in any line of work he'd find himself in. He could also cultivate his love for cars and things of the sort, given the fact that he's unable to do that here with our limited source of cars and other automobiles.

When it comes to Schneider, I see many things for him. I could see him perhaps joining a military or police force to keep him grounded with what he knows, or I could see him going into some line of work that has a strict schedule and high standards for their employees and who they do business with. Schneider needs a tight schedule and a firm set of rules to follow. That's his mindset. But at the same time, I'm able to see him relaxing and finding a rather laidback job for himself. He's quite gentle when it comes to nature, though he once drowned a cat, he's said, and has his moments where he enjoys the finer things in life, such as music, art, and dancing. There are two sides to Schneider, but the latter is not one that he's able to express as freely in our current circumstances. Because of that, I lean more towards that for him than anything else. He deserves a break from the militaristic lifestyle that he's had to live in and uphold throughout his life. He deserves peace.

With that comes Oliver. Oliver is the dreamer of our little family. As I've mentioned before, Oliver is very drawn towards things regarding space and dreams and other related subjects. He yearns to figure them out, or maybe he aches to feel understood by something that so many of us have looked up to and worshipped for years up until now. I can envision him as an astronomer or someone who dives deep into research about a plethora of different things, solely to figure out what they are and how he can see a future for himself in them. However, Oliver is quite tech savvy, since he's been the one who's set up our radio and other electronic appliances with little to no struggle or help required, so if he were to go into a field where technological and computer skills are necessary, he'd fit in quite well and enjoy himself. Either way, he and Schneider would have a wonderful life outside of here. They'd be able to support themselves and enjoy their jobs.

Richard would most certainly go into some line of entertainment. Being as dramatic as he is, he would do very well as an actor, or maybe a musician. He pours his feelings out of him as if all of the emotions in him have broken past the dams in his heart and his mind, and will flood him from the inside out if he doesn't open his mouth and tell people about them. A part of me wishes to be as uninhibited with my emotions as Richard is. While such a thing comes with a certain vulnerability, it also brings with it a clarity that I don't seem to have. I don't know if Richard would fit in well with a job where he had to decipher someone's emotions and help them through them, but I think he would be a good example to many people for something like that—specifically to other men. If Richard could be held on a platform where he could openly talk about feeling confident in your own feelings and thoughts, many people might feel empowered by him. What I'm attempting to say, I suppose, is that Richard would flourish if he were somehow famous, as cliché as it may sound. He has the personality, talent, openness, and drive for it.

Now, Paul... I don't know about Paul. It's too early to tell with him. He's still coming out of his shell, though he's come a long way since he first began living here a couple months ago, so it's challenging to gage what I think he would succeed in outside of here. Paul seems headstrong and passionate, so perhaps he would make a good leader. He isn't afraid to take charge when it comes to certain things, but he's still adjusting to being so bold since he wasn't able to express himself in such a way before living with us. However, in the right environment and under the right circumstances, Paul would have outstanding potential for being a leader. Whether it be as a president, a mayor, or simply the founder of a party or movement, Paul would inspire others and execute what he believes in with confidence, strength, and pride.

That is why I've trusted Paul with my plan to escape the country. Though it sounds weak to say that we will be fleeing, that is exactly what we'll be doing. Of course, we will fight for our lives in the process, but ultimately we will be fleeing. We will be running for freedom and hoping that we make it. There's no other way to escape this place—this Hell on Earth that we have all unfortunately been born in. If there were a more honorable way to escape, I would've found it, but after years and years of thinking about something like this, this is the best that I could come up with. Even now, I'm not proud of it, but it's better than remaining an unwilling slave in a country that would rather massacre its own people than grant them any sort of life or rights.

I can't help but wonder what I will do after I get out, if that happens. I can't imagine that I would be able to sit still very well. I wouldn't be able to lay and bask in the rays of peace and quiet, and order and serenity while knowing at the back of my mind that I have family and people that I've met throughout my life still living and suffering here. I want to be free, yes. I want to live my own life with my own rules and restrictions, rather than cowing myself into obedience out of fear that I will be tortured by the government, thus displacing my brothers because of my actions. But I wouldn't be able to have such a thing if I didn't try to do something for the others that live here. They all deserve and want what I do, and I can't ignore something like that.

A man once told me that a few other countries want to help ours. I want to believe him, so I convince myself to at times. I told Paul about it. I told Paul that that specific man had said that he was once a linguist and had contact with someone from outside of the country. Even Paul didn't believe me at first, which should be a red flag to me and tell me that I shouldn't put faith into the idea either, but I need to grasp at any sliver of hope that I can to assure my sanity at this point. But aside from that... The man told me that most of the world doesn't care about us. They view our way of living as typical for our country and therefore don't see any point in attempting to liberate us from this treatment. I wish I could make them see it differently. I wish I could show them how miserable life is here and tell them that they need to get their heads out of their asses and do more than assume that just because we've been like this for years, that we're doing fine and that we don't need any help.

Something like that ignites an anger in me that I shouldn't feel. It's irrational. It makes me want to have no contact with those countries, but then I realize that I'm already in that boat. I'm unable to talk to anyone outside of the town I live in, let alone the country as a whole, so why would I wish for such a thing? Why waste wishes on something that I already have? That's what brings me back to reality and allows me to see that I need to focus on those out there who do care and wish to help. The rest of the world is just as useless as the government is and will therefore do nothing for me. When I get out, I'll have to turn my back to them, even if I badly want to charge at them and demand to know why they blatantly ignored our struggles for years and assumed that we approved of living under such rule. It won't change anything and it will be a waste of energy that needs to be put to action in other ways.

I hope Paul agrees to come with me, and the others, when we leave. It wouldn't feel right to leave him behind. In fact the more that I think about it, I don't think I'd go at all if Paul didn't want to join us. He's a part of our family now, and more personally speaking _my_ family. It would be like leaving a sibling or a child or a parent behind on a sinking ship or in a burning home. Yes, you saved yourself, but you let a part of you die. You allowed someone else to lose their life while you walked away unscathed. It isn't, and wouldn't be, right. So if Paul declines the offer, I'll stay until he changes his mind, if he ever does. I can't leave behind the family that I gained after I lost the one I was originally given. I believe unspeakable things would be done to me if I were to do that. Karma would have my head.

Leaving is what we deserve. Fleeing is what needs to be done at this juncture. It will ensure better lives for us. It will ensure happiness. It will give Schneider and Oliver the freedom they deserve to love one another to their full capability. It will give Flake the chance to flourish and build onto his character. It will provide Richard with the opportunity to inspire others and assure them that what they feel and think is perfectly normal and acceptable. And it will give Paul a chance to become even more human than he's become in the past several months. As for me, I don't know what all will entail with my life. I'm not as focused on myself as I am them. They're my family, as I've said before. Once they have their lives together, I'll focus on mine. Until then, I'll go with what fate decides for me and take the reins when it's time. That's what I've done up until now and it's what I'll continue to do until then. A few more months of doing so won't hurt. It will only help, and that's all I want to do.

—

"What's your favorite childhood memory?"

"I don't think I have one."

"Really? Come on, Flake, think. There has to be at least one."

"I don't know... My childhood wasn't fun."

"Well, no offense, my love, and not to take away from your pain and trauma, but... nobody's was. That doesn't mean that there wasn't some sort of silver lining, though, hm? So, come on. Think. What's your favorite childhood memory?"

"Mm... Well... One time, I saw a really nice car when I was walking through the city with my mother. It made me forget about how anxious I was that day. We were going to where she was employed because she hadn't gotten her paycheck and she wanted to see if something had gone wrong."

"Is that when she...?"

"Mhm. That's that day."

"Before they left?"

"Yeah. I don't want to talk about it."

"I know. I know, I'm sorry. Sometimes I just assume that talking about it will help."

"If it did, I'd be over it by now."

"Well, I wouldn't say that. You don't talk about it often."

"...I don't want to have this conversation, Till."

"I'm sorry, again. We can change the topic. Tell me more about the car. Do you remember what color it was?"

"It was black, with white pinstripes. They were very thin and there were only two of them. You almost had to squint to see them."

"How did you notice them, then?"

"I didn't want to look away from it. It calmed me down, and that was the only thing to have calmed me for weeks before then. It was refreshing."

"Did you see any people in the car?"

"Ah... There were three, I think. The windows were down a bit, so I could see the tops of their heads."

"I take it they were rich since they had a car."

"Oh, Till. There's nothing else they could've been because they had a car. Unless they were thieves and were caught and killed later that day for stealing."

"God. Imagine."

"I don't want to. It will taint the memory."

"You're right. I'm sorry, Flake... for the third time."

"At this rate, sorry won't cut it."

"Is that so? What will, then?"

"Mm... Kisses. Lots of them."

"You're too cute. How many?"

"Three, for now. Every time you have to apologize, you have to kiss me, too.”

"You're a genius, Flake. Has anyone ever told you that before?"

"Only you, because you're stupid enough to think so."

"...Now you have to apologize and kiss me."

"That wasn't the deal!"

"The deal should go both ways! Pucker up, Lorenz. I deserve a kiss after that."

"Fine, fine. There."

"No, no, no, that wasn't a kiss! That was a peck!"

"You didn't specify what kind of kiss you wanted!"

"I shouldn't have to!"

"What if I'm shy?"

"You, shy, with me? My dear Flake, I'm afraid you haven't been shy like that with me for quite some time now."

"And you, my dear Till, should know that I'm shy outside of my time spent with you. It's almost as if you don't even know who I am."

"I know who you are! If I didn't, I wouldn't love you."

"Well, then, it's good that one of us knows who I am. Sometimes I feel out of touch with myself."

"It's easy for us to feel like that. What do you do to center yourself when you feel that way?"

"I look to you... I don't know why. You just make me happy and you make me feel safe and secure. It reminds me that... I'm protected and that even if I do lose touch with myself and reality, that I have you around to help me."

"Do you know how much I love you, Christian?"

"Kiss me for calling me by my first name."

"I'll kiss you for anything and everything in the world."

"That's better. But no, no, I don't. Tell me."

"I feel like you know, but you want to hear me say it anyway."

"You were right. You do know who I am."

"How could I not? I'm so in love with you that life without you, even as it is now, would be completely and utterly pointless, and I would see no desire to ever love or care for anyone else."

"...That's not true."

"But it is. Falling in love with you has opened my eyes to the beauties that the heart, mind, and soul hold and are capable of."

"...Okay. Tell me more nice things, Till."

"If I could describe the feeling that love brings me, I would say... that it's like running. At first glance, it seems like a daunting task. You begin running and you feel it heavy in your chest and lungs, and it burns. It leaves you breathless and taken aback, but yet you keep going. You keep going because you know you have to, and you've already started, so why stop before you reach your goal? So you keep running and while it is hard, you see something bigger at the end. You see relief. You see a moment to rest and a chance to get yourself together. And finally, that break comes and you can take a moment to catch your breath and when you do, you feel your heart pounding and racing, and even though you're tired, you're still proud that you did it, and you still manage to smile. You take that time to reflect, to calm down, and to slip back into reality. And then once you're ready, you run again... And that's what love is like. You run and you run and you run, and you get to the breaks and even when you've stopped, you still know that the progress is there and that even more lies ahead of you. That's what it's like. That's what it's like because running is freeing and taxing, just like love. It's exactly like love."

"I... I don't even know what to say. That was so... I– I... Oh, Till, I'm speechless."

"Maybe because you've never been running before."

"...Apologize and kiss me, running man."

"Anything for you, my dear Flake. Anything in the world."


	16. Sechsten—Oliver.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver’s POV where he realizes that he has depression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Now that this is getting a few reads, I’d like to let you all know that I have other works! They aren’t set up like this, however—they’ve just got the very standard story layout and whatnot. But if you are interested in a setting like this, I have a story that follows a similar storyline where the boys actually do something about their terrible homeland and survive! Then if you want a break from my anarchist bullshit, I have a story that’s inspired by Mein Herz Brennt. So yeah! That’s all. Enjoy!!

## Sechsten—Oliver.

Ollie. 21.7.92.

It's the middle of the work week and I'm so tired. Everything is so exhausting, no matter what I do. Some days I feel too tired to even get out of bed, but I know that I have to. The government doesn't like it when people miss work so I try to go whenever I can, even if I'm sick or have a migraine. Sometimes I get migraines because I think too much and because I get dehydrated too quickly, but I try to ignore them when I go to work so I do a decent job and stay safe. I wish I could stay home on those days, but I can't. There's lots of illnesses that are worse than migraines so it's better to save my available sick days for when I'm really feeling under the weather.

Today, I don't think I'm sick. I think I'm just sad and caught up in my fears. I don't want to tell Christoph because then he gets sad because I'm sad, and I don't want that. I feel bad when he's upset. He also blames himself when I feel poorly because he knows that he can't do much to make me feel better. Christoph always wants to fix everything when it comes to me, but he can't and it hurts him. I wish he would see that I appreciate everything he does for me. Without him, I think I'd be dead by now. 

Right now, Christoph is helping Paul make dinner. Christoph seemed okay when he came home from work, even though he was the last one home. With Christoph's job, we never know how he's going to be when he comes home. Sometimes the job is tough and gruesome, and other times it isn't so bad, he says. He has no problem with killing the people who deserve to die—people like rapists, murderers, and those who hurt children, but he doesn't like killing anyone else. He doesn't think they deserve it. He's right. They don't. I don't know where I stand when it comes to the death penalty. I don't think I'd want to kill anyone for the things they do, but... it depends on the circumstances. If they tried to kill someone I love or if they did succeed in killing them, I think I'd want them to die, too, but... I don't know. They have a family, too. I don't want their family to hurt like I do. Their family didn't do anything wrong, I'm guessing. Unless they're the ones who made them like that...

Ah, see? There's too many things that play into it. I'll just say I stand in the middle when it comes to the death penalty. That's what I'll settle with.

I know that Christoph is in favor of it in some cases. In others, not so much. I think the others are the same way, but I'm not sure. We don't talk about it often, probably because we have to face death and things like it everyday. We try to think and talk about other things whenever we can, but sometimes it's inescapable. You can try to close your eyes and imagine that everything is okay and that nothing is wrong, but it doesn't work. You can't run from the light of day when the darkness isn't much safer.

I got off topic from what I originally started this letter out as. I do that a lot when I don't pay attention. My focus bounces from one thing to the next so quickly that it leaves my head spinning sometimes. It isn't helping how I feel right now either. My head already hurts and for it to jump back and forth like this is making it worse and worse as the minutes go by. I wish I could snap my fingers and have this feeling go away.

I don't think the pain I currently feel is physical. I think it's because I'm falling into another one of my moods. I haven't written much about them before, but whenever I feel really sad and trapped, I say that I'm in 'one of my moods.' It's another way of saying that I'm too stuck in my head to do much of anything. Christoph can sometimes snap me out of it, but I don't know if he'll be able to this time. My mind is picky with things like that. I'll want to come out of the mood, but it's difficult to do so. It's like my brain won't let me. It's like... being stuck in prison, except your head is the prison and the guards keeping you locked up are your own emotions. I don't like it. I wish I could figure out why I feel like this.

It's not just in my head either. I feel it in my chest. The first time I felt it, I was fourteen and laying in bed, trying to fall asleep. I suddenly felt uncomfortable and my chest started to ache, but... it wasn't my chest itself that didn't feel right. It wasn't the muscles or bones, or skin or anything... it was inside me. It felt like someone had dug through my chest and put a hole in me and then just left without putting anything back in. It was like a sinkhole. Soon, the rim of the hole started to cave in and it got bigger and bigger, and it hurt and ached, and I didn't know what to do. I felt like I was falling into myself and I couldn't get out, no matter what I did. I never told my parents or anyone else because I didn't know how to describe it and I didn't want them to think that I was crazy. I mean... it does sound crazy, doesn't it? To feel like there's a hole in your chest and all of you is being sucked into it? It sounds crazy to me and I've been dealing with it for seven years now... So yeah. I think it's better left in my head and on paper than it is anywhere else.

I wonder if other people feel like this. I wonder if they lay in bed at night and feel like there's a war in their mind and a hole in their chest. It can't just be me. There's supposedly billions of people on Earth, so I can't be alone with something like this. It just doesn't seem possible. I don't know, though. Maybe I'll ask Richard. Richard is really open and understanding when it comes to his and other people's emotions so maybe he'll know what this is. If he doesn't, then I guess I really am alone. The thought of that being my reality scares me, but I guess it could be worse. I could be alone physically. Thank the stars that I'm not.

I wonder if I could somehow fill the hole inside of me. Christoph does a good job of distracting me from it sometimes, but it never goes away completely. A part of me thinks that it would be kind of stupid of me to think that Christoph could solve all my problems. If that were the case then all of us would be happy. We wouldn't be sad and upset because of how we live. We'd be happy and content because we have each other. But that's not the case. Despite having our little family, we're all sad still. We all have bad days and we all fall into bad moods. I wish we didn't. I wish that there was a way to fix how we feel, but if there is, it isn't accessible to us. Maybe this was part of the government's plan all along—to make all of us so sad and drained that we have no energy to feel like we deserve better, let alone have the energy to fight for better lives.

Now that I say that, it makes sense. Why else would they make live like this? Once you crush someone's heart and mind, it's hard for them to get back up and do something about it. Not only have they done that, but they've also stripped us of our freedom, most of our money, and our families. They've taken all of it and we've been left here to work like dogs and slaves. I guess if I ever get really tired of it, I could kill myself, but I don't know if I'd want to do that. I don't think it'd be the right thing to do. It would hurt Christoph and the others, and I would just be leaving them alone to deal with all of this by themselves. Then on top of that, they'd blame themselves for not being able to help or save me. I think they'd probably kill themselves, too. Christoph would. He's said so before. I feel the same way. If he ever dies or takes his own life, I'll do the same. I can't live without him. I don't want to. If he were gone, I'd have no reason to keep living.

I don't want to think about that, though. Thinking about Christoph dying brings tears to my eyes. I don't even know how he'd die. I know he wouldn't go down without a fight because he's Christoph. He's been strong ever since he was born. He wouldn't lay down his life and allow someone to take advantage of him. At least I hope he wouldn't. Christoph is capable of much more than succumbing to the temptations of death. He's stronger than them, too. 

I, however... I don't know if I am. If I was faced with death, I think I'd be too scared to do much of anything. I'd probably give up and let myself meet my fate. I mean... what else could I do? If it's my time to die, then it's my time to die. There isn't much I can do about it. I'm not a fighter like Christoph and I'm nowhere near as strong as him. I'd be paralyzed and unable to do anything about it. Maybe I'd come to terms with it just before it happens so I'm not as scared, but even then, who knows? My mind is unpredictable and weird. I never know how it'll respond to something, but based off of how it behaves when I think about either Christoph or I dying, I think I can confidently say that I wouldn't handle either of our deaths well. 

With that being said, though... I hope I die before Christoph does. I wouldn't be able to deal with the pain of losing him. I know he'd be hurt if I died, but like I said, Christoph is strong. Christoph doesn't give up. That, and I wouldn't want him to give up if I died. If one of us deserves to live on Earth and have a good life, it's him. It's him because at least he doesn't feel like his mind and chest are out to drown him or bury him alive. He's better off living a long life than I am.

Writing helps me feel better sometimes, but tonight it didn't help. That's my own fault, though. I thought about all sorts of sad things and focused on them more than anything else. I should've just went and helped Christoph and Paul cook like they asked me to instead of boarding myself up in our room to write all of this down. Christoph knows me better than I do. I should start listening to him when he tells or asks me to do things with him. He can sense when I feel bad or when I'll start feeling worse, but yet I can't. I guess that's what it's like to be in love with a person like me, though. You have to know how I feel because most of the time, I don't even know what I feel.

Sometimes I feel like Christoph deserves better. And... he does. He deserves someone who doesn't feel scared and sad a lot of the time. He deserves someone who's strong like him and less childish than I am. I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I'm just... not a good person. That I'm a mistake or something. I don't know why I feel like this. No one in my life has ever made me feel like that personally, but that's what my mind tells me. My mind is my worst enemy, which says something because the government should be my worst enemy, but... that's just what I think. That's how I feel. I feel like my mind hates me and that's that.

Well... I don't think I have much else to say for tonight. I think I'm going to get ready for bed and go to sleep early. Hopefully I'll feel better when I wake up in the morning.

—

"Ollie? What's wrong?"

"Hm? Oh. Nothing. Just tired."

"Are you sure? You were frowning when I walked in."

"Oh... It's because... I... can't find my favorite pair of socks."

"You were sad because you couldn't find your favorite pair of socks?"

"Mm, yeah. That's why."

"Ollie... You know you don't have to lie to me. Can I sit down with you?"

"It's your bed, too, so yeah. You don't have to ask."

"Well, thank you anyway. Now... What's wrong? Why didn't you eat dinner? Paul and Schneider prepared a lot of food."

"I don't know. I just wasn't hungry."

"Ollie, come on. We both know that's not the entire reason why."

"If I tell you the real reason why, you'll think I'm crazy.”

"You, crazy? You realize who you're talking to, don't you?"

"Yeah. What about it?"

"You realize you're talking to Richard Kruspe, the king of crazy, and yet you think you're crazy. I promise you that whatever you feel isn't crazy. And if it is, I'll tell you how to fix it."

"Oh... Well... Okay."

"Good! Now, tell me what's wrong. I'm all ears."

"It's just... I don't feel right. My head doesn't feel right. I feel so sad and disconnected all the time, and I shouldn't because I have a family and a boyfriend who loves me more than anything, but... I don't know. I just don't like it. I don't like anything when I feel like this."

"What's it feel like besides being sad and disconnected?"

"I don't know, like... someone dug a hole inside of me and then just left me to deal with it. Like someone is inside of my head and flipping switches to make me feel lonely and miserable when I least expect it."

"Hmm. Well... Will it help if I tell you that sometimes I feel like that, too?"

"Really? How?"

"I don't know. Sometimes we just feel like shit and we can't do much about it. I feel like shit sometimes because of my terrible mother and her stupid boyfriend. Other times I feel like that because how we live sucks. Then on occasion, I feel that way because of how people treat me. It just depends. There's a lot that goes into things like that. But that's just what it is for me. I don't know what it is for you. Maybe you were born like that."

“That… doesn’t really make me feel better. It makes me feel worse because I didn’t go through a childhood like yours and yet I still feel this way.”

“It’s called depression, Ollie. I think you might have it.”

“I have depression?”

“It seems so. It’s not bad to have depression, you know. I mean, you could be a crazy psycho killer, but you’re not.”

“Do some people with depression kill others?”

“Sometimes. But even people without it kill others. You don’t have to be depressed to kill someone.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah. So, that’s what I think it is.”

“How do I fix it, since you know what it is and what it feels like?”

“What I do when I feel depressed is have some water, take a seat, and listen to everyone else talk. It’s better than listening to my own thoughts. Have you tried doing that before?”

“Um… I don’t think so?”

“You can try that, then. And if that doesn’t work, you can try reading a book or something else. Walking around helps, too. You want distractions, you know? You don’t want to feel suffocated by your mind feeling and doing unwanted things. You want to be distracted and have something else to focus on.”

“That helps you, then? Reading and walking?”

“It does. I also write.”

“I don’t know about that one for me, Richard. I wrote tonight to try and feel better, and it didn’t help.”

“What did you write about?”

“I don’t know. Just the stuff that was going on in my head.”

“Well, of course that’s not going to help you. It’s only going to make it worse. You see, when you write down the things that are in your head and look at them once they’re on paper, it’s sort of like you’re manifesting them and asking for them to actually happen or occur.”

“W– Wait, what? How?”

“Words have power, Ollie. If you write something down, I think it’s like a way of telling fate, ‘hey, have this happen’ by writing it a letter. It’s odd and risky… Wait, why are you crying?”

“B– Because that makes me feel scared of what I wrote down!”

“Oh… Oh, Ollie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. But it’s okay to cry, you know that? It’s okay to cry and it’s okay to be depressed and upset. And you can write whatever you want to write in your notebook! That’s just how I think fate works. It doesn’t mean it’s right. It just means that that’s how I think. We all have our own thoughts and opinions, okay? Mine don’t have to be the same as yours and yours don’t have to be the same as mine. I’m sorry, Ollie. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Do you want me to go get Schneider for you?”

“N– No, because then he’ll cry and I’ll cry more, and… Just st– stay. Stay here.”

“Are you sure you want me to? I mean, I just made you cry.”

“I know, but then you said all of that and it helped.”

“What? About having your own feelings?”

“Yeah… I liked it.”

“Ah. Well, then, come here. I’ll give you a hug and keep reminding you of those things.”

“But I’ll get tears on your shirt…”

“Oliver, the last thing I care about is this shirt. And if you cry more, it’s okay. Crying is good for you. It may not be enjoyable while it’s happening, but you’ll feel better and lighter after. It’s a good way to get the darkness out of your mind.”

“…Oh, no, I’m going to cry again.”

“Like I said, it’s okay. Let it out. I’m here for you. I’ve got you.”


	17. Siebzehn—Flake.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flake’s POV where he rambles about Till and his own mind.

## Siebzehn—Flake.

Der 17.07.92  
Die Lage: das Schlafzimmer

How I hate the heat. I would rather face the coldest of winters than endure the heat that comes with the summers here in Berlin. I don’t mind the snow or the ice during December, January, and February, but the sun attempting to cook me alive throughout June, July, and August is unbearable and dreadful. I don’t know why the others enjoy summer so much. It isn’t as if we can do much outside of the house anyway. We don’t have a hose to spray each other with, nor do we have a sprinkler. I never had either of those things as a child, but other people did and they seemed fun. If we could have one or the other now, maybe I would like summer a bit more, but as for now, summer is the worst.

At night, I feel too hot to seek for comfort within Till’s arms. Till is already hotblooded. Laying next to him is like a death sentence during these months. On top of that, Till sleeps with a blanket no matter the weather. Even though we have no way of cooling the house when it gets too hot out, Till uses a blanket nonetheless and allows himself to sweat even more. I think he’s crazy for it, but he is the man I’ve chosen to love. I don’t have to do or like everything he does, and I don’t have to partake it in either.

I wish we could live somewhere colder, but then I think I would become sick of the cold. I wouldn’t enjoy the snow as much and I wouldn’t look forward to walking outside in the winter to feel the wind blow against me. I would beg for sunlight and warmth, despite the fact that I’m shying away from such things as best as I possibly can right now. Perhaps I could live someplace where it’s an equal balance of the two. A place where it isn’t too hot or too cold—where it’s always a stable, moderate temperature, but with changing weather patterns, like sunny, cloudy, rainy, and so on and so forth.

There must be a place out there in this world with a climate like that. I don’t think every city or country or even continent has the same weather that we do here. They’re fortunate for that, though. The weather here is enough to drive me crazy. That’s another thing that Till and I don’t see eye to eye on. He doesn’t mind the weather. He likes the fact that there are distinct seasons marked by the drastic changes in weather. I don’t, because I don’t like to shift so quickly between the extremes. But then again, Till has always adapted better to change than I have. That’s the type of person he is, and that’s the type of person I’m not.

If Till were a season, he’d be summer. He’s warm and inviting to most, and people are able to enjoy themselves when he’s around. They’re able to relax and find time to wind down and think about things. Sometimes there are rainy days, but even then, the sun comes out afterwards and dries up all the rain— The rain being sadness and the sun being Till. Then even when the day is too hot to bear, a cooler night falls over you and you do manage to feel a bit calmer somehow. Till has that effect on people. I don’t know how because I could never make people feel or think like that, but that’s how he is.

So… maybe I do like summer in a way. But I only like summer because it reminds me of Till. If I didn’t have Till, I’d hate it just as much as I hate other things.

Till says I’m a very neutral person, though I do sometimes tend to lean towards being negative. I think of the worst outcomes possible and I almost always dislike people instead of feeling little to nothing for them. I don’t know why I look at others like that, but I do. It’s very easy for me to lose respect or interest in someone. I almost always start out emotionless when I meet someone new and rarely does it progress into something other than that. Why should I try to impress someone or be nice to them? I’ve just met them. I don’t have to do any of those things. Till says I should in order to make a good impression, but I don’t care enough to. At the end of the day, these people will mean nothing to me and will provide me with nothing. They won’t become my friends or remain my colleagues for long, nor will I invite them into my life in any way. I don’t trust others and I don’t necessarily like them either. I like Till and the other four, and that’s it. They’re all I need. If I didn’t have them, I would probably stick to myself. Having people around is a burden and I’m not looking to deal with more than I already have to.

Maybe that is insensitive of me. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell what’s insensitive and what isn’t. I mean, I know that it’s insensitive to shoot innocent people, like what our government does, so… is it really insensitive to keep others at a distance to preserve my own mental and emotional state? It’s something to think about, but I don’t think I’ll be contemplating it. It’s not that important to me. Unless Till or one of the others wants me to work on opening up, I’ll stay how I am and keep my own views and actions.

However, I can say that I’m thankful that Till isn’t like me. If Till were like me, none of us would be here. I would be dead, I believe. Schneider would be brain dead and brainwashed. Ollie would be terrified and lost. Paul would be emotionally disconnected. And Richard… Well, I’m not sure about Richard. He’d probably be getting into trouble and being executed for it. Till lets him off his leash, so to say, when we’re at home, but reminds him to keep a tight grip on the reins when he’s at work or out in public. The last thing any of us want is for one of us to die.

I think it’s bad of me to say that if one of us were to die, it would be Richard. Richard acts up the most. He has a short temper and a loud mouth, though we’ve discovered as of recent that Paul does, as well. But the difference between the two is that Paul is timid and seldom shows that side of his personality, whereas Richard flaunts it when we’re in the privacy of our home. Richard is much more likely to mouth off to the wrong person and get a bullet to the forehead for it. Second on the list would be Paul for the same reason, but there’s a slim chance of that happening, I believe.

I don’t know if I would ever be killed. I’m terrified of everyone who’s in charge, so I attempt to follow the rules and obey whoever is above me. I don’t know what they do with those they deem unfit to work, but I don’t want to find out either. I’m just fine with cowing myself into obedience.

Other people elsewhere don’t have to worry about these things. I don’t know that for a fact, but something in me believes that something like this is few and far between when it comes to other countries and their living conditions. But then again, this could be common and it could be why no one has come to help us yet. Maybe our country is just like everyone else’s and there’s no point in saving us. We aren’t a great world power and we don’t have a fantastic leader, and our people aren’t very driven to attempt to overthrow the government. They probably look at us and shrug, and think that there’s no point in helping us because we’re already doomed—that any attempt to help us would just be a waste.

I can’t blame other countries for ignoring us, then, I guess, especially if this is what the majority of the world is like. You can’t save everybody. I suppose they view it as a scenario where you’re watching two people drown. One person is the president of a nation and the other is lower class with no family. Who would you save? The president is the most logical choice. In this comparison, our country is the lower class person with no family and the other countries that may be like ours are the president. Of course the stable part of the world will rush to save them before they even spare a glance at us. It’s only logical.

But… I do wish that someone would help us one day. I don’t know when or if that day will ever come, but I can hope, even if it’s pointless and a waste of time. It’s not like I have much else to do here and it’s not as if the Gods listen to me when I pray. If they did, my parents would’ve come back and we would’ve escaped this country afterwards. The fact that neither of those things happened is proof enough to me that they don’t listen to me. Maybe they listen to others, but when it comes to me, I’m just a nobody. I’m that same drowning lower class person like my country is and everyone else is the leader of a nation. They’re important and I’m not. Even the Gods know it.

For now, dreams will be dreams and hopes will be hopes. Whether they will become a reality or not is beyond me, but for now I have my imagination. God, help me if the government ever attempts to take that from me. That would be the final straw for me. That would be what makes me send a bullet into my own skull. Once they take control of my thoughts, it’s over for me. I’ll just end it.

I hope it never gets to that point, and I hope that one day, things will change. If only one of those things can come true, I suppose I’ll be content, because one is better than none. I’d prefer both, but I can’t be greedy with something like that.

While I can, I think I’ll just sit here and think. Living in my head, though it’s a war zone, is far better than immersing myself into this so-called life that I have now.


	18. Achtzehn—Richard.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard’s POV where he talks about his childhood, and Paul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> MENTIONS OF PHYSICAL AND SEXUAL ABUSE.

## Achtzehn—Richard.

Tagebuch — July 7th, 1992

Today I've done too much reminiscing over my childhood, as usual. I have nothing else to reminisce about. Everything else has been bland or good for the most part, despite the fact that I live... well... _here_. These guys make almost everything bearable. I would say everything, but I have to be realistic. Sometimes things happen that even they can't make better.

For example, had they been around when I was a child, they wouldn't have been able to make up for the time that my mother slapped me across the face and said that I was the worst mistake she had ever made. They wouldn't have been able to take away the pain I felt when her husband, who wasn't my father, mind you, shoved me into my room and locked me in there for God knows how long. I was too young to have a real grasp on time. It felt like I was in there for days. Whether I was or not, I'm not sure, but that's what it seemed like it was. Not like the government would've cared or came looking for me. One less person to deal with is always what they strive for. If anything, my mother's husband was doing them a favor by trapping me in my room.

To be quite honest, I can't remember any explicit sexual abuse. I remember bits and pieces of things, but I don't know what to make of them. Sometimes I wonder if they actually happened or if I just conjured them up as a child because that's what it felt like was happening... but even that doesn't make sense to me. I don't know. I don't know what to think of those memories that I possess, if they are even memories and not just things that I imagined happened to me.

On a separate note, I can always recall the way that her husband's hand would leave my skin stinging after he hit me. It felt like a fire growing and spreading beneath my flesh. I was so pale back then that I bruised easily and my skin turned red within seconds. He'd mock me for it and hit me again, and again, and again. Even when I began fighting back once I had grown up a bit, he didn't back down. He was either fearless or heartless, or maybe a bit of both, but whatever he was, he hurt me and I'll never forget it.

However... he isn't the one I blame entirely. I blame my mother, as well. She allowed all of this to happen. At times she cheered him on or just walked away when she saw it happening. She didn't care about me. I wasn't obedient and I wasn't what she wanted me to be, so to her I was useless. I was nothing but a waste of space that her husband could put into place with his fists, if he was so lucky. When I began fighting back with my own fists, he got into kicking. Our fights would be brutal. We'd draw blood, leave cuts and bruises on each other, and throw things at one another. There were no boundaries when it came to us and asserting dominance. I wanted to show him that I wasn't as weak as he thought I was, because I knew he thought I was weak. I knew he thought of me just like my mother did, and for whatever reason I couldn't stand it. I couldn't go a day without thinking about it and obsessing over it because I wanted to be better. I needed to be better. I needed to show them that I was capable of much more than what they believed.

I don't know whether I succeeded in doing so, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say I didn't. The last fight that her husband and I got into resulted in me walking away with a missing tooth at the back of my mouth, a busted pair of lips, and a limp because of how hard he kicked me. It didn't help that he swung a chair at my legs after either. I have to give him credit, though. He was a hell of a fighter and would only back down when he was unconscious. He didn't walk away from any of our fights, even if he wasn't the one to start them.

There was no way to maintain a peaceful relationship with either one of them. We are all destructive, defensive people. I shouldn't be as dramatic and violent as I am, but I try to control it as best as I can. Sometimes it’s difficult because that's just who I am and how I am, but I know that it's harmful. If it weren't harmful then I wouldn't have gotten into all of those fights with my mother's husband and I wouldn't have once yelled at my mother so loud that I couldn't speak for days after. I don't want the guys to see how violent I can become when I'm upset, so I try to calm down before I react to something that has the potential to anger me. Sometimes it works and other times it doesn't, but Till tells me that it's better to try and fail than it is to not make an attempt and fail even worse. He's right. But then again, Till is always right with those sorts of things.

Thankfully, I'm not alone when it comes to parental issues in this household. Schneider definitely has daddy issues, Till has mommy issues, and Flake has both mommy _and_ daddy issues because his parents abandoned him. Oliver doesn't have any, but he's still upset about losing his parents, so maybe that counts a little bit. I don't think Paul has any qualms with his parents. He said that they were taken away when he was young so maybe he wasn't old enough to get into any real arguments with them. Either way, Paul is simultaneously lucky and unlucky in that regard— Lucky because he never had any problems with them and unlucky because they were ripped away from him when he was just a kid.

I oftentimes wonder if our parents would've been different had we been born and raised elsewhere. I think that might've been the case for other people, but I think I was always meant to have a fucked up relationship with my parents. My father left before I could get to know him and before long, my mother had found someone else, and that someone else just happened to become her husband and the same man who would later beat the shit out of me more times than I could count.

Some of us are meant to deal with certain things that others aren't. I think this was my life plan all along—to struggle with my mother and to hate her husband with everything in me. I was never meant to have a functioning family, blood wise, that is. Schneider might've been, but I think he's in the same boat as me. I can't see any sort of life where Schneider was born into a calm, loving family. For Till, I can see it a little bit, but not much. Flake had potential, but his parents were just a little more flighty than he is so they acted like cowards and ran away from all of their problems, quite literally. Oliver was always meant to have a good family. He had one before and he has one now. The same goes for Paul, if Paul's parents were anything like Oliver's.

Paul hasn't told us a whole lot about himself, but he's opening up as the days go by. He's less quiet than he was when he first got here, but he isn't as rambunctious as I think he might be deep inside just yet. I know that I can unearth that side to him for him. He just has to trust me enough for that to happen. Sadly, I think Paul finds it very difficult to trust anyone who isn't himself, but even then he might not trust himself. That could be a reason why he can't connect with others.

I don't know. At the moment, Paul is an enigma, but he's one that I'd enjoy cracking.

I've liked Paul since he first arrived, admittedly because he's attractive and he has a cute nose. There's something about noses that I love. Schneider and Flake have big noses (which I'm personally not a fan of, but don't tell them I said that), Till has a flat nose when you look at him dead on, and Oliver has a normal nose. There's nothing special about it. I hate my nose. I think it reminds me of a pig and that's why I hate it. Ugh. I'm cringing just from the thought of looking at it.

But anyway, Paul's nose. At first glance, it doesn't look big, but when he turns his head and you can see his profile, you notice that it's a little longer and pointier than what you might've expected. But then he scrunches it up sometimes and it's the cutest thing I've ever seen. He does that when he snickers or chuckles at some crude joke one of the others has made and I love it. Paul has many quirks like that and more and more come to light as the days go by. I enjoy watching Paul grow as a man and as a person. I hope to become closer to him as he becomes more comfortable with others and himself. 

I did notice something the other night, though. I was laying on my back and attempting to fall asleep, but it wasn't working, so I turned onto my side to try and see if that would yield any better results. But... all I saw was Paul staring at me. It wasn't an intense or dreamy sort of stare. He was just... looking at me. His features were calm and he didn't seem alarmed when I caught him, but he didn't smile or give any sort of positive indication to my eyes meeting his. He just looked at me and blinked slowly. A part of me thinks he was daydreaming and didn't even realize that he was staring at me or that I was looking back at him, but I don't know. I didn't ask him about it the following morning because I thought it would be an awkward thing to bring up, but I am still curious about it. Why was he looking at me like that? Why didn't he look away or close his eyes when I caught him staring? I have so many questions, but now isn't the time to ask them. The last thing I want is for Paul to cower back into the same shell that he was in when he first began living here.

With that in mind, Paul has been here for a little over two months now. He's grown a lot since that, given the circumstances. He's gained healthy weight and his hygiene is much better now than it was before. Along with that, he talks more and sleeps more peacefully. He still has some nightmares, but not nearly as many as he had when he first came here. I can't blame him or anything for that, though. I have nightmares about my mother's husband sometimes. They mostly include him pummeling my ass into the ground or they're about things I think he did to me, but who knows if they ever truly happened or not? I have no one to confirm those doings, or lack thereof, but... I think I'm okay with that. I think I'm better off not knowing.

If he did do anything to me that crossed into the sexual abuse territory... He can rot in Hell. He can do that for beating the life out of me when I was a kid, too, but sexual abuse is much worse in my opinion. God save anyone who would ever dare lay their hands on any future child of mine in such a way. I would kill them within a second of discovering that they hurt my baby. They can hurt me as much as they want to, but the moment they hurt my children is the same moment they die. Sorry to be so blunt and cruel, but that's just what I would do. I see it as a fitting punishment for scarring a child.

If I do have a child someday, I wouldn't want them to live here. I'd want us to live somewhere else... Maybe the United States. I've heard from people on the street that it's lovely over there. There's lots of culture and people and music and life, and there's not much of that here. I'd want to raise my child in a place like that. I don't think I'd mind it myself either.

Maybe one day I'll make it to the United States. If I do, I have one message for them—

Look out, U.S.A.! Sven Richard Kruspe is coming your way and he's ready to live his life to the fullest!

—

"Have you talked to Paul much?"

"A bit."

"Do you like him?"

"I do. He's polite."

"He's cute, too, don't you think?"

"Richard, I'm not going to sit here and listen to you guffaw over a man who sleeps a meter away from you. If you want to talk to him or perhaps flirt with him, go and do so."

"But Schneider, I don't know what I'm doing! You're in a relationship, you have to help me with this!"

"If you're insinuating that I knew what I was doing when it came to discovering my feelings for Ollie and then acting on them, I'm afraid you're talking to the wrong Schneider."

"But you're older than I am and wiser. You have to have at least some words of wisdom."

"...Okay, first of all. I'm only twenty six. I'm not old. And second of all, I have no words of wisdom, whatever that is."

"But you're older than me. That means you have more experience than I do."

"Yes, with _one_ person. One. Ask Till about this. I don't have any advice to give."

"You're no fun to talk to, you know that? You're dreadful."

"And you're hung up over a man you can't even flirt with, which is very unlike you, so. Take that."

"I'd know how to flirt with him if you just told me how to act natural!"

"How should I know how you 'act natural'? I'm not you. Our versions of acting natural could be two completely different things."

"Okay, then, fine, good point... But I still really need help."

"Richard... If you like him, just talk to him. Ask him questions. Make him tea or coffee. Lend him your slippers sometime. Iron his clothes. I don't know, just be nice to him. I can bet that not many people have been that way towards him. He'll take well to it. Hopefully."

"...And you said you had no advice to give. You're such a liar."

"That's not even advice, idiot. That's just common sense."

"You're smiling, so I can tell that you don't think I'm an idiot. I can also tell that you aren't being mean genuinely, so thank you."

"Oh, no, I meant it when I called you an idiot... And whether or not I'm being mean genuinely is none of your business."

"Okay, alright, Herr Schneider. My apologies. Are there anymore gems of wisdom you'd like to share with me?"

"Connect with him, Richard. Make him feel comfortable. He seems fine right now, which is good, so just... I don't know. Remind him that he's safe and that you're there for him. He'll probably appreciate it."

"Is that what you do for Ollie?"

"Of course. I remind him of that all the time. Oliver is young and scared, understandably so. Even though Paul is older, it doesn't mean that he isn't scared. We don't know all of what he's been through. If you want to try and get him to talk about it, then that's on you. I don't recommend it at this time, but it's up to you. You're better with feelings and people than I am anyway, so you might have better luck with it than I would."

"...You're sweet, Schneider. You know that?"

"Compliment me again and I'll steal that stupid hat you found the other day."

"My cowboy hat? Rodeo hat? Whatever it's called? You'd only steal it because you're jealous that you don't have one just like it."

"You only wear it to show off and stand out. Besides, why would I want a hat as ugly as that one is?"

"Ugly?! That hat is great!"

"You have a daft taste in fashion, Richard."

"At least I don't dress like a hitman all the time. Thank you for the advice nonetheless. I appreciate it."

"Don't thank me. I don't know how to respond to that."

"The common response is 'you're welcome' and it really isn't that difficult to say. Want to practice it together? Here, repeat after me—"

"You're pushing your luck, Richard."

"Ah, you're right. I'll leave you to it. I'll come and get you when dinner's ready... And thank you. I mean it."

"Yeah... You're welcome, Richard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also... another reminder that I do have other fics about the Rammboys! if you’d like to read them, feel free to do so!! thank you so much for the support and love


	19. Neunzehn—Paul.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul’s POV where he talks about getting used to his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took me a week or so to update! I’ve been really busy. Don’t forget to check out my other works!! Thank you for all the support and love.

## Neunzehn—Paul.

Dear diary, I guess..? I don’t know. Dear whoever,

I don't know how I'm doing with this writing thing the others put me up to. I mean... they all write. All of them. They write about their day, what they do at work, their feelings... I guess their dreams, too. That's what Richard says he writes about. Richard has more dreams than I do. I mostly just have nightmares. They've come less and less frequent over the past month and a half that I've been here, but they still happen. They still scare me—both when I'm awake and when I'm asleep. It's like I can never really run away from them.

Anyways. Richard tells me to write down whatever I want. I've been trying to these past couple entries, but I don't know what to say. There's a lot I want to say, but none of it comes out the right way. I'm still learning to process emotions and thoughts, I think. That's what Richard says.

Richard helps me a lot. So do the others, but Richard is by my side most of the time. Other than Till, I mean. I work with Till and he's the one who brought me here and gave me everything that I have now, so obviously I'm going to be close to him. Richard, on the other hand, is just... my friend. He's my friend. Maybe my best friend... which is weird to say because I've never had a best friend before. Hell, I haven't even really had friends before. Besides Till and Richard, the others are my friends, too, I think. We act like how friends act. I saw kids when I was younger do fun things with their friends, but since fun is practically illegal now, we find other ways to go about things. We watch things that Till or the others have found and gathered over the years, we read articles and journals that are upstairs in the attic, and we mess around with some of the toys that everyone has found over the years and recently.

These guys are nice. They're a lot to handle sometimes, but I don't think it's them personally. I think it's just the fact that I'm not used to any of this. I'm not used to befriending the people that I live with or having a positive outcome from it. I mean... my parents and sister were taken from me when I was a kid. The lady that became a mother figure to me died when I was in my mid-twenties. Then the weird older guy I lived with after died recently. Everyone I've lived with has either been taken away or has died. And so far, neither of those things has happened to any of these guys. I wish that nothing ever will, but I know that one day something will take them away from me, one by one. And I'll be alone. I'll be alone just like I have been practically all of my life.

That's why it's a lot to handle. I want to get used to it. I really do. But the thought of losing any of them is scary. It's such a dark, ominous thought that hovers at the back of my mind all the time and I hate it. It prevents me from getting closer to them.

I want to be closer to them. I want to get to know all of them more than I do already. I want to know what makes them happy and what makes them sad. I want to know what their lives were like before now. I want to know what they think of everything that we have to deal with. They've already told me these things before, but only in moderation and some more than others. Till is very vocal with the way he feels about things and so is Richard. Flake doesn't say much, but he tends to agree with Till. Ollie says things at the right time, which works for him since he's pretty quiet to begin with. And Schneider... Well... I think Schneider has a lot of things he wants to say, but he doesn't know how to say them. I think that because I'm that way, too.

Schneider's been through a lot more than I have. Richard told me about it. He told me not to tell Schneider that he did so (and since I'm a little intimidated by Schneider, I definitely won't) and I've kept my word. Apparently, Schneider's parents were horrible to him—his father, especially. His sister didn't do anything to stop his parents from mistreating him either, which doesn't make her much better than them. I can tell that Schneider hurts from it still. I can see it in his face and in his eyes. I can see it because I see those same things with myself. One day, Schneider will move on from that pain, or he'll at least learn how to work with it. That's what we all need to do, I think. We need to work with our pain and anger, and make something useful out of it.

...I'm starting to sound like Richard. I spend too much time with him. That’s pretty obvious, though.

Richard is always with me. I'm sitting in bed right now and he's sitting on his bed on the other side of the room. He isn't writing, though. He's reading. Richard reads occasionally and then tells me about whichever story he's finished. I feel like that's something that parents are supposed to do for their children, but I really don't think that Richard does it to make me feel like a child. I think he does it because he... cares about me. He wants to see me happy and he wants to make me feel comfortable and included. It works sometimes. Other times, my mind gets the best of me and wants me to stay away from everyone and everything, so I do. Richard doesn't like it when that happens, but he's not violent about it. He's calm and collected, yet very emotional at the same time. He nearly cries when he sees me sink into myself and hide away from reality. It makes him so sad to watch my mind become my own worst enemy. I wish it didn't make him so upset. I wish that because then it would be easier for me to do that without feeling guilty for it.

I care about Richard. I do. I really do. He's a nice, sweet man with a good head on his shoulders, even if he tries to convince me otherwise at times. We all have our flaws, but from what I've seen and experienced personally with Richard, I don't mind his flaws. I don't mind that he cries easily and I don't mind that he sometimes gets in way over his head about things that don't involve him at all. I also don't mind that he occasionally loses control of himself and messes up by guilt tripping or manipulating one of us because once he comes out of that mindset, he apologizes. Till taught him how to catch himself in the act, and to Till, I say thank you for that. It doesn't feel good to be toyed with, but at least Richard realizes when he's done so and takes it back. He learns every time he does it, whether he knows it or not.

God. Sometimes I think about Richard and I don't stop. I don't know why. I've never experienced anything like this. I don't know what it means and I don't know what all entails with it, but I don't stop myself from thinking about him. I realize that I do it while I'm at work, which is dangerous because God only knows when someone will beckon for me, and I do it when I'm walking to and from work. I wake up and the first person I see most mornings is him. That's because when I wake up, I'm facing his side of the room and he sleeps on the edge of the mattress like I do. So even though we're apart, we're still kind of together in a way. We sleep together in our own way.

I wish that I didn't see Richard in my nightmares, but I do. Sometimes he's the only one who dies, but sometimes he's the one who comes to save me. Of course I dream of the others, too, but Richard comes and goes so often in my dreams, it's like he has access to them. He can choose whenever he wants to visit me in my sleep. I don't mind it, but I do find it peculiar. I've never seen someone so much in my dreams and in my day to day life. That's never happened to me before.

I... I want to say more about my dreams of Richard, but I can't. I would feel weird if I did. Only because some of the dreams... some of them are so vivid and realistic that it's like... I wake up and I wonder if they were even dreams at all. I know that they were, but in that moment where I wake up and open my eyes and see Richard just a few feet away from me, I wonder what is real and what is a dream. 

Oh, the thin veil between daydreams and reality.

I'll leave my dreams about Richard at that, then. I can't be writing about them when he's still right across the room. I feel like I'm betraying him by writing them down and never saying anything about them to his face. He tells me everything about him. He tells me about his childhood, his parents, his beliefs, his opinions... Everything. I feel like I know a lot about Richard. Someday in the next few months, I think I'll know him inside and out. That's not a bad thing, though. It could never be a bad thing. It just shows me that someone really does care about me. That someone trusts me and wants to grow closer to me. That's foreign to me. It really is. And again, like I said, I do have the others around and Till sticks out from them, but Richard is just so... different. Richard is his own person and he isn't afraid to leave a lasting impact on someone. I wish I could be that fearless. I wish I could be more like Richard.

One day, I'll be my own person. I won't feel or be so lost and I won't have to doubt myself and everything and everyone around me. I'll be fine. I'll have thoughts of my own and feelings of my own... but I do feel like I've gained some since I started living here. I have these five to thank for that. They showed me how to become comfortable with myself and all that comes with it in their own ways. None of them deal with things the same way. They may agree on certain things, but they don't take the same path when it comes to everything. They each grew on their own and then they grew a little more when they got to know one another. I think the problem is that I haven't been here long enough to really retain much. Within the next month or so, I think I'll be a lot better off than I am now.

I ended up writing a lot more than I thought I would. It's weird. Richard was right. Sometimes we don't even know that we need to write until we start doing it. Richard is right about a lot of things. He's smart.

I'll be smart, too, eventually. I'll be and feel human. I'll be okay, I hope. And these guys will be my best friends and maybe even more than that. For now, I'm okay with where I'm at because at least I'm here and at least people care. At least I'm alive.

14.06.92


	20. Zwanzig—Schneider.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schneider’s POV where he talks about his anger for the way he lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for the late update!! I’ve been really busy and stressed from work and this stupid virus going around since there’s a lot of it spreading around where I live. :-(
> 
> I hope all of you are remaining safe and healthy! Remember to social distance and wash your hands for twenty seconds!

## Zwanzig—Schneider.

6.6.92

I've not yet grown accustomed to Paul. Progress has been made, but nothing has come of his presence yet. Till spends time with him mostly, as does Richard. I keep my distance. Oliver and Flake are a bit wary of him, but I blame their anxiety for that. If they were more social people, they'd talk to Paul. Paul has attempted to speak to them, but not much has come of it. Oliver is shy and Flake is... Flake. He doesn't trust anyone, let alone himself. With that being said, I'm not certain whether he's more unsure of Paul or himself. Perhaps both.

Paul needs time to grow and adjust. I think he's scared. If he is, I can't blame him. Sometimes I'm scared of things, too. I don't fear work or what could happen to me while I'm there, but I fear what further actions the government could take to penalize us for whatever it is that we've done to warrant this particular fate. I fear that they could take away all of our rights, meaning the ones that we do still have. They could take away our ability to work, to live with others, to be paid and to receive the money that we work to call our own, and a few other things. I hope and pray each and every day that they don't do that to us. I hope that somewhere, someone is watching over us and preventing the worst of the worst from happening.

At times, I doubt the existence of God, or of any Gods that may live elsewhere. I wonder why they would allow us to endure things like this and I question what we did to deserve this. I'm granted no answers, ever, despite my begging and pleading, and sometimes nonsensical crying. I try not to cry when I know that Oliver is around. I don't want to upset him, nor do I want him to think poorly of me. Of course I know that Oliver would never judge me for crying, but it's not him that causes me to feel like that. It's my own mind—my own sense of judgment and how hard I am on myself. Oliver has softened me up as our time together has gone on, but I'm afraid that I'm still too rigid. Perhaps one day I'll be as good as he is. And if I'm not, then... Oliver deserves better.

All of us, in our own ways, deserve better. We shouldn't live here or experience the things we do. We shouldn't have to live in fear or be in a constant state of anxiety every single day of our lives. We shouldn't have to follow such strict rules that at the end of the day, we feel less than human and want nothing more than to run away like adolescents in fairytales.

Now that I think about it, I wish to be one of those characters at times. I want to run away. I want to tap into the inner child within me and go wherever life takes me. I hate saying this. I hate even thinking about this, but... How freeing would it feel to run into the sunset? To see the sun ahead of me, setting on the horizon with no gates or fences or villages to keep me from running until my legs give out? Could I run even after the sun has gone down? Could I run through the darkness and still manage to find peace and solitude? I don't know. I wish I did. But I don't.

When I was younger, I was brainwashed. I wasn't who I am today. I'm someone completely different now. I guess that's for the best, though. Had I had these thoughts as a child, I would've acted on them and I would've tried to make them a reality. As a result, I would've been killed. I wouldn't know Till and the others, and I wouldn't have ever loved Oliver. I think all of them would've found one another regardless of whether I was here or not, but... dare I say, I don't think it would've been the same. Without one of us, there's nothing here. It isn't what we've grown used to. It isn't what we've found solace in. Even though Paul is new, his presence provides an extra sense of security, despite his inhibitions and whatnot.

At times, I wonder about my family, but only when I'm weak. They hurt me. They abused me. They threw me to the streets to let me suffer and die. They don't care about me, which means that nothing in me should shed any sort of light onto the memories that I have of them. If any of them had truly cared about me, they wouldn't have let my father do all the things that he did to me. My mother was never innocent in all that transpired, but I still sought out comfort in her at times, though I didn't express it much. My sister was a small breath of fresh air from time to time— Not because she helped me, but because she remained neutral. She didn't lend a hand, but she didn't hurt me either. On one hand, I hate her for it, but the other, I can't blame her. Had I been in her situation, I don't know what I would've done. It was evident that she felt poorly for me and that she didn't support what our parents did to me, but... apparently she didn't feel bad enough to help me.

It's every man for himself in this life, though—or in this country, I should say. It's not like this happens everywhere, I assume. I hope. If it is, then what am I daydreaming about? What am I wasting precious brain cells on? What have I been picturing in my mind ever since I was banished from the place I had called my home for so long? Perhaps if a place such as that doesn't exist on Earth, then maybe I've been receiving glimpses of Heaven or the afterlife from some higher being. If that happens to be the case, I have only one thing to say:

Stop. I don't want to see what the Heavens look like, and I most certainly do not want this to be the only thing you communicate to me. If you are truly out there, then do more. Do better. I don't care if you are God Himself, or any other sort of God. You turning your cheek to those of us who are suffering here does not help us any. If you hate me, I don't care. Punish me. But let it solely be me. Don't drag others into it. Keep me here in this Hell, but let my friends and my lover out of it, and the others who live amongst us. Release them and keep me in this sick game that you play. I am a willing contestant and I will fight to the death, even if I am participating in a game I will never win. 

...I must sound crazy. I'm talking to someone or something that probably doesn't exist. If they did exist, then... Well, it's nothing I haven't said before. You must understand by now. If not, then I'll continue to write about it in the future. For now, though, I don't want to write about anything.

Whoever decided that journaling was helpful, lied. This writing session has done nothing but make me feel a plethora of emotions that I rather would've kept buried deep beneath the surface. It's pointless to do this anyway. No one reads what I write, and they never will. With my luck, the government will crack down on doing recreational activities like this, confiscate my notebook, then kill me after seeing what I've wrote down. 

Right now, though, that doesn't sound like a horrible option. As long as I die with Oliver, I'll be content. Surely if they find my notebook, they'll find his, too, seeing as he rests it right next to mine. 

If Oliver has ever read through all that I've wrote, which I doubt considering he respects my privacy, I wonder what he thinks of it. I wonder if he writes things similar to what I do. It wouldn't surprise me if he does. Although we have our differences, we are similar in many ways. Then again, that isn't difficult in a place like this. We are all full of anger and angst, and anxiety and sadness. Oliver and I talk about it often, but... it upsets him more than it does me. Whenever I can, I try to get him to focus on something that has nothing to do with what we have to live through and with. Oliver doesn't deserve this. That is one thing I will never be able to say enough. Oliver does not deserve any of what we have had to endure. He deserves no pain whatsoever. If I could, I'd kill all of those who made this our reality, just because they scarred Oliver and have broken him nearly beyond repair.

Now I'm angry. I'm frustrated and I wish to do something more, but what is there to do? What could I ever possibly do to get us out of this? My hands are tied. I have no power. I don't even have freedom. I have nothing but my own mind, my family, and my lover. They should be enough, but with something like this, I'm unsure of what we could do to save ourselves. It pains me to say that, but I can't sugarcoat the truth, even if it spares me a bit of emotional torture. I have to look at things for how they are and come to terms with them. 

That may never happen, but for now, I can dream. I can still dream.

—

"Can you help Flake do the laundry outside? I've got dinner to make."

"I thought it was my turn to make dinner?"

"I know, but you had a long day. I'll make dinner. You can do it tomorrow."

"Oh. Okay. I guess I'll go do laundry..."

"Shout if you need anything, okay? I love you, Oliver."

"I love you, too, Christoph."

"Hey, Ollie! Going to help Flake outside?"

"Yeah, unless you want to?"

"What, you don't like laundry day? It's fun!"

"Laundry is boring. I wanted to cook, but Christoph's doing it for me."

"It's because he loves you."

"I guess so, Richard."

"Oh, Ollie, it'll be fine! Flake doesn't bite."

"I know that. We're friends."

"So think of it as hanging out with a friend, then. Not as laundry day."

"...I didn't think of that. That doesn't sound bad."

"See? It'll be over before you know it! And by then, dinner will be finished."

"Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Reesh."

"Going out to help Flake?"

"Yes, Till. Right now."

"Alright... Hey, come here, do you have a second?"

"Mhm. What is it?"

"Flake's been... distant today. I think something happened at work. Will you try and see what's wrong?"

"Oh... Oh, I don't know, Till, I'm not good with that sort of thing. I– I mean, Christoph has to explain my own emotions to me, so—"

"Please? It hurts to see him so disconnected. I think he'll open up to you."

"I... Well... I can try."

"Alright. Thank you, Ollie. I'll return the favor sometime."

"No, no, it's okay, I don't mind. I'll talk to him."

"Thank you, again. It means a lot to me."

"...Hey, Flake. Need any help?"

"Um... Sure. If you just want to pin up the button up shirts, that would be helpful."

"Yeah, no problem. ...You know, I don't look good in these shirts. You do, though."

"I don't think so. I don't think I look good in anything."

"Don't say that. You look good in lots of things. Like that robe you wear for work! It's really cool."

"The laboratory coat?"

"If that's what it's called, then yes! You look good in that. It makes you look smart, even though you look smart anyway."

"How do I look smart?"

"The glasses. And you have a really... astute gaze. You always look like you're studying everything. Even right now!"

"Because I am. I'm anxious. I have anxiety."

"Even right now?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why not? Look at how we live. Where I work doesn't help either."

"I understand that. I have to watch people be killed sometimes, so I know work isn't always calming."

"I don't like killing. I– I don't do it, but..."

"But what?"

"It's nothing. Can you start folding the clothes in that basket?"

"Of course. ...If you want to talk, we can. I won't tell anyone else about what you say. As long as you don't tell them about what I say."

"And what will you say?"

"I’ll tell you about what happened today, but only if you tell me why you're more anxious than usual today."

"Mm... Okay. It's just that... killing is... it's all around us. I can't get away from it, even when I want to."

"Why not?"

"...Because I have my hand in it."

"How?"

"I work in the laboratory, Oliver. I watch them as they work on poisons and gases and chemicals that can hurt or kill people, and I don't stop them. I just stand there and let them do it."

"Did they make something today like that? Is that why you're upset? ...Is this shirt inside out? I can't tell."

"Yes, it is. And yes, they did."

"What was it?"

"I– I can't tell you... I'm not supposed to. But it's bad."

"Is it poison? A gas? Medicine? A virus?"

"No."

"Okay... Is it a bomb of some sort?"

"No."

"Is it mace? A weapon? Some sort of acid?"

"Oliver, _stop_ — I _can't_ tell you."

"Did I guess it?"

"...Yes."

"Which one was right?"

"...Oliver, please."

"It was a virus, wasn't it?"

"No, it wasn't. It was one of them last things you said."

"A bomb? A weapon? Poison? Acid?"

"The... The— It's the last, the last one."

"They made some sort of acid?"

"Yes. It's strong enough to breakdown some of the strongest metals on Earth. They're planning on using it to dispose of bodies."

"So... they're going to use the acid to burn up people's bodies?"

"Yes. Now _please_ , please don't tell anyone."

"I won't. I won't, I promise... Okay, um... Now I'll tell you something. But this stays between us, okay? You can't tell anyone else."

"O– Okay. I won't tell."

"Good... Today, I had to accompany a few military agents to a rich neighborhood. They were arresting a man who had been fooling with his taxes in order to get more money. Well... When I was driving them, we passed this house and... in those neighborhoods, some of the people have gates around their houses and on the gates for where they park their cars, they have their last names on it."

"That sounds expensive..."

"It is, I think. It looks like gold to me. But one of the houses we passed was in the neighborhood that Christoph said he used to live in, and... it had 'Schneider' on the gate. At first, I thought it was a coincidence, but when we drove back, there was a woman outside coming back from a walk and she looked exactly like Christoph... I think it was his mother."

"You think you saw Schneider's mother?"

"I'm almost certain it was her. You have to drive slow through those neighborhoods so I was able to look at her for a long while. She had his nose, the shape of his eyes, his shade of skin..."

"Schneider doesn't like his parents, does he?"

"No. They were horrible to him."

"So you didn't tell him you saw her?"

"No. I don't want to. I can't. It would only make him angry to hear that they still live there and that they're still alive."

"I see... What's it like there? In the rich parts of the city?"

"It's scary. They know I don't belong there. They know I'm just a driver and that I'm the scum of the Earth. They look at me like I'm dirty and poor, and... sometimes they taunt me. Even in front of the agents I'm with. The rich get away with almost everything, unless it comes to scamming the government in order to get more money, but that's only because the government is greedy. The rich get away with murder, missing work, disrespecting people who make less than them... they're nearly untouchable. Sometimes I think the agents I work with are intimidated by them. The rich have no fear. Why would they? While the rest of us live in poverty, they live in gated communities and see no impacts of the way of life here. The government agents I work with aren't as rich as them, and if a certain rich person kills them, nothing will happen to that person. The government favors the rich over its own agents, I've heard. I believe it. At the end of the day, the rich are just as important as the agents, and sometimes even more important. They stay loyal to their leaders because they're rich, they don't complain about the way of life, and they stay in line. The government likes that."

"I wish I was rich. I could handle all of our laws if that meant that we could have running water more than a couple days a week."

"And heat and air."

"And good amounts of food."

"Clean and new clothes."

"Nice shoes."

"Cars."

"Better houses."

"Pets."

"Families."

"Do you want a family one day, Flake?"

"Of course I do. I have a family with all of you, but... a child seems nice. I would want to raise them better than my parents raised me."

"You'd be a great father, Flake."

"...Do you really think that?"

"Mhm. Why wouldn't I? You're nice to talk to and you're relaxed. Kids like that."

"Oh, well... Thank you, Ollie. I appreciate that."

"You don't have to thank me... Thanks for telling me what was wrong. You can always talk to me if you need anything. I won't judge you or tell anyone anything if you don't want me to."

"...Okay. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Want to go eat dinner? I think I just heard Till yell that it's done."

"Yes, dinner sounds good. I'll get the clothes—"

"It's okay, I've got it. Go inside and wash up. I'll get the rest of this."

"Well... Alright. See you in a few minutes, then."

"Save me a spot next to you, if you can?"

"Sure. I wouldn't mind that."


End file.
